


That Kind of Lonely

by Wootensmith



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 111
Words: 314,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wootensmith/pseuds/Wootensmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas's point of view. Because maybe he wasn't wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brushing

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcUCYtyaLrY

This time they are in Skyhold, though he knows she left it long ago. His caretaker told him how she was the last, even Josephine having departed, even the maids and the cooks and the stablehands gone, dismissed home, sent away to find a new purpose for their lives, just as he had sent her away. How she’d carefully placed his books back in the library, packed the relics and tokens on his desk in a small crate that still sat in the rotunda, sealed the inkwell with wax so it wouldn’t dry out before he returned. Then she’d grazed her fingers over the walls of the rotunda and smiled sadly at the caretaker before silently walking out of the fortress and out of the gate, over the bridge and out of his agents’ sight. 

But they were in Skyhold now. He’d seen her do this before, or something similar, countless times in the past few months. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to braid her hair with her remaining hand. He’d watched her practice, adapting her spells to be castable with one hand, arranging the tack on her horse, relearning how to write. Every night she practiced in her dreams what had frustrated her during the day, like a child learning to walk, dreaming itself into proficiency. It had made her stronger, better. He could admit that now, all these months later. She had abandoned her staff, but her spellcasting rivaled any mage in Thedas now, even him, if Mythal hadn’t helped him regain his powers. She could do with one hand what many people struggled to do with two.

Except this. Except the intimate things. Lacing her stays, clasping her armor, braiding her hair. He didn’t know, he couldn’t, but she struggled through each personal activity, still alone, for long minutes every day, never quite finishing them the way she wanted to, but settling for good enough. His heart would have ached to see the gaps in her armor alone. He had watched her dream these things for months, but this— this was not practice. This was not learning to function again. This was pure loss.

He stood in the shadowy memory of the doorway, unseen, as she struggled with the tangled strands of her hair, wondering why she kept coming back to this. At last she gave up, gently setting aside the brush. He was startled to see the glitter of a tear roll down her cheek. In all their time together, in all the dreams he’d watched even, he’d seen her cry only a few times. Every time because of him, he thought with a guilty pang. She covered her face with her hand. 

He sighed. He shouldn’t do this. It would only make things worse. But he couldn’t bear the defeat in her shoulders or the way she shook with grief. He crossed to the bed, climbing onto it behind her and picking up the brush and the leather laces. He slid the brush gently through the memory of her hair, willing it smooth, remembering the weight and thickness of it in his hand. She didn’t move or make a noise until he gathered it in three thick branches and began to twist it together in a shining braid. Then her hand shot up and caught his. He froze and started to pull back. They had this tacit agreement, she pretended not to see him, pretended not to know he was there, and he pretended he wasn’t hurting her by being there. Her hand closed a little tighter, but still gently.

“Please wait,” she said, without turning. He hesitated but didn’t pull any farther away. “I won’t try to change your mind. I won’t ask anything of you except that you listen,” she released his hand and felt the breath of a deep sigh flutter the strands of her hair. “All this time, I’ve listened to you, let you have your say. Don’t I deserve the same courtesy?”

 _And so much more,_ he thought, and buried his hands in her heavy hair again, plaiting it slowly as she talked.

“You warned me when we started, Solas. You warned me that this could only end in sorrow. You thought I’d regret it. Or that you would. I don’t know how it was before the Veil. I don’t know if you fell in love forever or if you were like the Avvar and only stayed with one another for as many years as it pleased both parties, but here, now, _every_ love ends in sorrow. Even the best ones. Our time is finite, fleeting. One of us was always going to abandon the other, even if it was only through death.” She didn’t turn to look at him, but she felt his fingers shake as they brushed against the back of her neck, still threading strands of hair together. Her voice was thick and low as she continued. “I don’t regret it. If we were back on the balcony, if you were warning me again and I knew everything, _everything,_ I’d do it again. Every second. Well, except maybe the orb. I might have smashed it myself to stop you, but I wouldn’t— I _couldn’t_ avoid loving you. I wanted you to know that, I wanted you to stop carrying the weight of both of our sorrow. I _choose_ to miss you. I _choose_ to want you.”

He tried to twist the leather laces around the bottom of her smooth braid through the blur in his eyes. “I know we tried to save the world, I know you’re still trying to save it, in some way I can’t understand, but the best thing I ever did was love you. Because it brought me peace when I needed it most. Because it made you happy for a little while.”

He placed the brush beside him and drew her into his chest, closing his eyes as his lips brushed her ear. He still couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.  
“There will be a world, vhenan, a time, that will be whole, that will wipe this shadow existence away. I will find you there.”  
She twisted her face toward him then. “You mean to undo it as we undid Redcliffe?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then I will not be me. And I will not know you.”  
“You will become yourself, in time. You told me it was not the mark that made you.”  
“It was not. It was you. And Varric. And Cassandra. And all the others. It will be the same as it was with Wisdom. Something may grow in my place, in time, but it will not be me.”  
“If there were another way—”  
She reached up and gently stopped his lips with her fingers. “I’ll find one,” she said, and kissed him. And then she was gone, leaving him kneeling on the bed of a memory Skyhold as empty as the physical one.  
_Damn Dorian,_ he thought as he woke.


	2. Mouseling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QwvqKMXhL8

It was, after all, Dorian’s fault. Perhaps that wasn’t fair. He would have recognized her equality eventually. It was just that her reaction to what had happened at Redcliffe that pushed him into realizing it as soon as he did. Had pushed him into loving her as long as he had.

It hadn’t started that way. His first thought when he’d seen her lying in Adan’s small hut was that she was similar to a field mouse who had been crushed by an errant wagon’s large wheel. Caught completely by chance in something far bigger than she would ever know or could hope to handle. It was clear the others thought she was responsible for the explosion, they gave her only enough care to make certain she’d survive long enough to be executed when they were good and ready. He knew better. He’d known who caused the disaster. Once he’d been told where his orb had been taken, he’d hurried to prevent what he was certain would be a bloodbath. The world was an abomination, but he hadn’t meant it to suffer. But he was too late, and recovering his magic now depended on secrecy. He could hardly admit that he knew the unconscious woman was innocent, Cassandra would ask how he knew. So except for the daily check by Adan and Cassandra, Solas was left alone with her.

  
He thought she was lost, that’s what he told himself, anyway, prying desperately at the mark with his magic at first, trying to reclaim it as his own. He had to stop the breach. Every minute it was open, more and more spirits were yanked through, twisting them into dangerous weapons. It wasn’t good for either side of the Veil. The plan had been to erase it in one moment, not tear it piecemeal. The whole thing was about as disasterous as he could imagine, and he panicked. After all, what did one squashed mouse matter? The mouse was past feeling it.

But apparently the woman wasn’t. She hadn’t woken, but she’d cried out in pain, pushed _back_ with her magic in protest when he tried to peel the anchor from her. It was the first time she’d surprised him, and the twist of guilt he’d felt, not at her cry, but at the _shove_ she’d given him, made him stop. _I’m sorry Mouseling,_ he thought, _it wasn’t meant to happen this way._ Force wasn’t working and it wasn’t worth the cost to fail. If she died before he retrieved the anchor, he’d have no way to repair what had happened. The orb was out of reach for now. The best he could hope was to fix the tear, to stop the Fade from hemmorhaging. And he needed the anchor for that.

So he’d waited. Any time he and the dwarf were relieved from battling the spirits pouring into Haven’s surroundings, he sat at her side waiting for her to wake, trying to slow the creep of the mark from swallowing her. He’d hoped to speak with her, he’d hoped he’d be first and alone when she woke. To see if she could be persuaded to join him, to see if she would prove sensible instead of stubborn. But he was away when it happened, silently wincing every time Varric yelled “Eat Dirt!” and another spirit disintigrated into green sparks.

Even the stout dwarf had been flagging by the time Cassandra found them, the marked woman in tow, and Solas had been wrung out, depleted, sparkless. It had been an act of exhaustion, grabbing her hand the way he had to close the rift, something he’d never have done otherwise. A surge of her own magic had flooded into him, distinct from the mark, bolstering him in a way he hadn’t expected. Still, he’d thought he’d made a grave mistake, thought she’d recognized his touch as she stared at him.

“What did you do?” she’d asked, and for a second he’d thought she meant something else, something larger. But his gamble had paid off. She sealed the hole, she’d repaired the Veil. His relief made him feel lighter than in days, and he’d striven to be pleasant though he knew nothing about her. Varric, at least, appreciated it. She’d still been too overwhelmed by the entire thing to respond to much of anything, something that, at the time, he’d chalked up to the general dullness of the age. It was a mistake he made too often with her. With them all. And one he deeply regretted in the end.

He ought to have seen it coming. But then, Cassandra should have as well. They’d led the woman straight to the Breach, barely pausing between rifts to catch their breath. She hadn’t even hesitated. Solas had wondered if it was fear or simple shock that made her so willing. He’d stood beside her trying to shield the precious anchor from the blazing violence around it. Not her, the anchor. He’d felt the energy drain from her, like water steaming from hot rock, evaporating into the jade light. On and on, more than he’d thought a simple Dalish mage had in her. Still the Breach did not close, and he caught her as she stumbled and lost consciousness again.

“What’s happened?” snapped Cassandra.  
“She’s completely drained. It was too much,” he said, handing his staff to Varric so he could lift her from the ground.  
“You said the mark would control the Breach. You said she’d be able to stop this.”  
“She _will,_ Seeker, just not today. She didn’t have enough power.”  
“Maybe if you tried feeding her instead of chaining people,” murmured the dwarf.  
Cassandra glared at him. “We had no way to know if she was a danger.”  
Solas sighed. “Though Varric has a point, in this case it wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t think any one mage has enough power. I underestimated the damage. We require assistance.”  
“And— and her?” asked Cassandra, worry wrinkling her brow.  
“She is uninjured, just exhausted. She will wake in a day or two.” _Poor Mouseling,_ he thought, _I don’t envy your dreams in the meantime._

The failure at the Breach did not discourage him. He’d seen her close the rifts leading up to it. She just needed time and his help. If she was still willing. He tried not to let hope run away with him. She was still an unknown quantity, and now that Haven saw her as their savior, he’d no longer been given free access to her, shoved aside by others eager to have a hand in bringing her back to her self. He was still the first to know she’d woken, a nervous elf detouring to tell him before Cassandra could pounce. He hadn’t pressed it, curious to see what the unlucky Mouseling would do, now that she found herself driving the wagon rather than darting between its wheels. He’d watched her emerge from the small, silent house into the crowds of believers and gawkers. Varric shook his head as he stood next to Solas.

“Look at her,” he said, “She’s scared stiff.”  
“It’s not an unwise reaction, considering her position,” said Solas, watching her slowly pick her way through the crowd. She startled as someone held up a baby for her to bless and held up her hands, horrified.  
“You think she’ll stick around?”  
“I don’t think the Seeker will give her much of a choice, do you?”  
Varric crossed his arms. “I don’t know Chuckles, look at that crowd. You think Cassandra’s going to be able to keep her here if she really wants to go? There’d be a riot.”  
Solas thought he had a point.


	3. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pX7TygjFqlQ

She sought him out, or at least, he _believed_ she was seeking him. But she was still shaking, disbelieving what she’d just agreed to, so perhaps she had been wandering and simply bumped into him. She never said. He liked to think she found him a calming force, even then. He’d had no idea she was as intimidated by the situation as she was, or he’d never have greeted her as he did.

  
“The chosen of Andraste,” he’d said as she approached, “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”  
She blanched and shook her head. The smile dropped away from his face. “I’m no warrior.”  
He tilted his head, considering. “You’ve defended your clan, have you not?”  
“From the occasional drunken shem or hungry bear. Never from floods of demons. I can’t do this— I can’t _be_ this.”  
“Shartan said the same at first.”  
She laughed. “How do you know?”

And he’d told her of the Fade, her eyes growing wider with wonder, her questions threading through the crisp air, tightening the words between them. He found himself smiling more than he meant to, becoming impulsive, saying more than he had planned. It was liberating, spilling it into a willing ear, seeing his own curiosity reflected in her face.

“I will stay until the Breach is closed,” he blurted out, without realizing he’d finally decided.  
He immediately regretted it. It was as if he’d slapped her. A few careless words had snapped the enchantment they’d woven around them, had unravelled the cocoon of ancient marvels that had made her slip out of her own worries and into his world, just for a moment. He watched it come crashing back onto her, this mighty thing she was expected to do, watched the panic as she realized he’d originally meant _not_ to stay, meant to abandon her in a sea of strange shemlen.

_Sorry, Mouseling,_ he thought, _it was a foolish thought. You and I are tied together until the mark or the Breach are gone. Whoever you turn out to be, I will remain._  
_Please be as you seem._

  
“Was that in doubt?” she asked after a significant pause.  
He pointed out that apostates were generally unwelcome and at the Seeker’s name saw the Herald draw herself up, a shining blade of steel courage, a deep thrum of hurt at the injustice of it as she suddenly assured him that she would defend him. He fought a sharp laugh, not wanting to hurt her. The herald was serious, though she’d been in shackles and unconscious not a week before.“How would you stop them?” he asked gently, reminding her that her position was fleeting, illusory.  
She didn’t flinch and he was taken aback, not by her words but by the warm hum of magic crackling around her as she spoke. He was intrigued, but not in trouble, not yet. He was looking for a flame in this dead, frozen world and he could still barely see a spark in her. Except for brief flashes, even Varric seemed more alive and Cassandra’s passion outstripped them both.

There was a disturbing feeling of loss the first time the Herald went to the Hinterlands without him. She’d taken Vivienne instead. She’d left Cassandra and Varric behind too, but he felt his own exclusion more.  
“Have I done something to offend you?” he’d asked when she told him he’d be staying.  
She looked shocked. “No, of course not. I thought you and the others needed a rest. And you said you needed an opportunity to study those ancient artifacts— I thought you’d appreciate the time.”  
“Of course. As you wish,” he’d said, but she’d still looked nervous, as if she’d disappointed him. “And you? When will you rest? You needn’t fulfill _every_ request made of you.”  
She frowned. “Who should I turn away? I cannot turn away the simple favors, the people that beg for shelter or food or protection. They have most need of us. Mother Giselle said that the Maker intended people to spread his word through action. I may not believe in a Maker, but I think she is right that we ought to practice what the organization is supposed to stand for.”  
He nodded. Mother Giselle was worthy of respect.  
“And I cannot turn down the larger errands, not when we need as much support as we do.”  
“Lethallan, you are not yet fully recovered from your attempt at the Breach. Let the others help. You are not alone.”

She’d smiled then, and thanked him, saying she appreciated the reminder, but she’d left without him anyway. And he’d struggled to concentrate on the strange glittering skull she’d left with him. If it had remained that way, he would have been fond of her. They would have been friends, perhaps, in a stunted way, like a master and a pet. She was invariably kind, she seemed to have an open mind and was eager to learn, not just from him, but from everyone she gathered around her. She had protested that she couldn’t be the hero that Haven wanted, but as soon as she’d said it, she became driven to prove herself wrong. She was special, but she was still one of _them._ One of the stunted, pitiable elves of the age. A mouseling.

Until Dorian. Until Redcliffe.


	4. Quarrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPEVxrANiA0

A successful information network, he’d found, did not depend on a vast army of spies, but in clever use of a reliable few. There were so few he could trust, and of those, even fewer who were capable of the type of infiltration needed. That was just fine with him. Solas disliked bloated organizations. Every added agent was another opportunity for corruption. For betrayal.

  
Instead, his people concentrated on embedding themselves in other, larger networks. And the Inquisition was rife with spies. By the time he was discovered, he’d already placed agents in almost every ring the Inquisition touched. The Red Jennies had been easiest, their disorganization making it a simple matter. The Inquisition, itself, had been next, Lavellan recruiting Loranil herself and a few words from Solas had— _altered_ Loranil’s alliance right under Leliana’s nose. Varric’s spy network had been trickier, but a lengthy study of the Hanged Man’s patrons had yielded results. Only the Qunari’s information remained inaccessible. It was said to be easier to domesticate a dragon than win a convert back from the Qun, and though elves were abundant in the Iron Bull’s circle, the matter proved impossible for several years. Still, Solas was prepared ahead of them all, able to compare reports and see farther than any.

  
But he still didn’t see the Tevinter coming. Perhaps it was because the networks were focused on the uproar between the templars and the chantry, or the chaos of launching the Inquisition. Or, more likely, the appearance of the red lyrium in the ruins of the temple. Looking back, it was a little like missing the forest because of one tree. Whatever the reason, they all missed it. It wasn’t only Lavellan that was shocked at the terrible bargain the mages had made with a Venatori magister. And Dorian had pushed them into pursuing the matter before Solas could learn anything substantial about this Gereon Alexius.

  
Most of the rest of the Inquisition ended up like that. After thousands of years of waiting, he found himself out of time, scrambling, like a mortal at every turn. It exhausted him and he wondered how they lived their entire lives that way. It was no wonder their bodies finally gave out after a few decades of the frantic pace.

At least they had realized it was a trap before they’d gone to Redcliffe Castle, thanks to Dorian. It had led to the Herald’s first real fight with Solas. She’d been standing at the gate, fiddling with a twisted lace in her armor, waiting for Cassandra.

“Herald,” he’d said, eyeing Dorian as he leaned against the palings, “may I speak to you?”  
She’d glanced up, startled, but her face had softened into a smile when she saw him. “Of course,” she’d said, following him to the empty corner beyond the siege machinery and out of earshot of the others.  
“You’re taking the Tevinter,” he said abruptly.  
She wrinkled her brow, the blood-writing rippling with her confusion. “Is that a question?”  
“You know nothing about him. You need a friend.”  
“I’m taking Varric and Cassandra as well.”  
He shook his head and scowled. “This Dorian says there is time magic involved. That’s— extremely advanced. You need someone who can figure out how to counter it. While Varric and Cassandra are both skilled, what they know of magic between both of them wouldn’t fill a potion flask.”  
“Do you have no faith in me? I am a mage, if you’ve forgotten.”  
“A _Dalish_ mage,” he shook his head, not noticing the gentle smile wither from her face. “What you’ve been taught about magic is tangled with superstition and flat-out falsehoods—”  
She folded her arms over her chest and took a step back from him and he knew immediately that he’d made a mistake. “I’ve survived this far with those superstitions guiding me,” she’d snapped.  
“You haven’t encountered anybody like this before—”  
“I may not have years of study the way you have, Solas, but I’m managing. Not every ambush is about slaughter. Tell me, if you’d been in charge, would Sera be here now? Vivienne and Blackwall? We were in danger the second we met each of them, yet they’ve turned out to be allies. You treat everyone as if they are a threat until they prove otherwise. How many fights would you have avoided if you’d worked in a different way?”  
He shook his head, but her words stung. She had been right. “So this is your plan? To go to Alexius and win him over? Everyone agreed that this was a trap.”  
“Yes, and we’ve planned for that. Not all traps are made to kill their prey, Solas.”  
“And if this one is?”

She wiggled her hand, the rift shimmering like water. “If we have to, we’ll fight, but nobody in their right mind is going to risk destroying the mark. I don’t know what Alexius’s plan is, but he’s as mortal as the rest of us and unless his time magic will undo the Breach in the first place, he’s going to need this.”  
“What if he’s the one that _caused_ it?”  
She hesitated. “You think his spell is responsible?”  
“I don’t know. Why risk it?”  
She dug silently in the snow with one toe for a moment.

“There’s more you aren’t saying,” he realized suddenly. “What’s the real reason I’ve not been invited?”  
“Because the mages willingly indentured themselves, but it isn’t unheard of for Tevinter slavers to raid alienages, even in Fereldan.”  
“You think the trap is intended to take slaves?”  
“Who would notice if two more were swept into the herd along with the mages? It’s not as if there’d be a huge uproar over a few elves.”  
He grabbed her shoulder to make her look at him. “You’re the _Herald._ People will notice if you go missing.”  
“What? A few refugees here? We can’t even feed ourselves. Nobody’s going to mount a rescue effort. And anyone outside of the Inquisition will probably think it’s a relief to be rid of me. But I have to try. We can’t close the Breach on our own, and the templars don’t seem to be willing. We have to hope there is more to this Alexius. I’d leave Cassandra and Varric too, but _someone_ needs to know what happens there, and those two are the most likely to escape and get the word out. Besides, we have to make it look convincing so that our agents can get into the castle undetected. If I went alone, it would be too obvious that I was bait.” She laughed at his serious face. “Don’t look so grim. I might be more competent than you know, even with all that superstition and misinformation cluttering things up.”  
“It’s not _you_ that I doubt,” he muttered, dropping his hand from her shoulder.  
“If you doubt my clan and the way they raised me, then you doubt _me,_ ” she said, her voice almost sinking below the rustling of the wind.

He took a step toward her to close the gap she’d created, his gait longer than hers, the space was much smaller than it had been. She met his eyes without wavering. “I don’t doubt you,” he repeated. “And I don’t doubt swords and crossbows have their places. But this is not it. I’m coming.”  
She shook her head but said, “As you will.” She turned to go back to the gate and he touched her arm to stop her. She turned back halfway.  
“If you went missing, _I’d_ notice. And I’d do what I could to mount a rescue effort,” he said.  
The smile returned to her face and the bowed her head slightly in thanks before moving away.


	5. Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDHY1D0tKRA

The Tevinter was nervous. He talked almost without stopping on their way to the castle. The Herald patiently responded to him, Solas could see she was trying to make him feel welcome. For her sake, he tried not to attribute Dorian’s nerves to something more sinister. Cassandra made no such effort though, sullenly questioning him whenever he _did_ pause for breath. But the Tevinter didn’t even pick up on it.

Solas began to wonder if he was possibly as naive, in his way, as he seemed. He threw off an impression of being worldly and fashionable, but Solas thought it was mostly an act on Dorian’s part to shield himself from anyone that would take advantage. The longer he knew Dorian, the more likely it seemed and he had gone a long way toward understanding and even liking Dorian by the time they’d reached Redcliffe. It took him months to admit that without Lavellan’s words, he would likely have arranged for Dorian’s death before he had found out anything about him.

He could tell she was nervous. Nobody else would have noticed, but he’d been watching her too closely to miss it. The muscle in her jaw pulsed with tension and her fingers picked at the splinters in her staff as they crossed the drawbridge. He winced at the collection of jangles and hollow thuds of their armor and weapons echoing off the stone. It wasn’t as if stealth was possible anyway, he reminded himself.

People had lined the road for miles watching them approach. Some had begged for the Herald’s blessing. She’d smiled at them but she was transparently uncomfortable with it. Others had simply watched. A few had thrown things. One old woman had darted forward and spit in the Herald’s face. Cassandra had frozen and her hand gripped the hilt of her sword. Dorian had flushed and avoided looking at all of them. There was a crackling warmth at the edge of her fingertips that only Solas could sense, but Lavellan hadn’t even stopped, just rubbed the liquid away and kept going. Solas thought she seemed more accustomed to the nastiness than she had to the praise. She might have been unwilling to retaliate, but he silently raised a barrier after that, and kept it around the party until they reached the courtyard. At least they’d served as a decent distraction. Inquisition agents had used the opportunity to position themselves nearby, ready to rush in when the trap was sprung.

  
It went about as well as he’d expected. The servant that met them had tried to separate them. Solas felt a surge of power like a strong vine pull at him, wrap around him. It was from her, a silent question, an attempt to make certain he was still there without looking at him. He could see Dorian was startled. He’d felt it too. Solas took a step forward, thunking the butt of his staff loudly on the ground as he did so. He was still there. He saw her back straighten as she insisted that they accompany her.

Alexius was cordial enough— at first. But after the Herald insisted that the mages participate in deciding their own fate, the situation crumbled quickly. He was a man unraveling, and the Venatori pried at his cracks and made them worse. He tipped his hand when Lavellan mentioned his son, Felix. An unknowing thief he’d called her, snapping about the anchor and his mad bargain with the Elder One. Solas leaned forward, his hand tightening around the staff. _This_ was why they had come, this was what he needed to know. He willed Alexius to keep talking, to tell him where the orb was. For once, he was heedless of the danger if the Inquisition found out. They didn’t matter anymore. A small scrap of information was all he needed and the whole thing could be over. More than that, if Solas could discover the magic Alexius meant to use— if he really _could_ manipulate time, none of it ever need happen. It was a solution beyond his wildest hopes. It was all reversible. He could undo everything: the explosion at the conclave, the Veil, even Mythal’s death. _Keep him talking,_ Solas willed her, _just a moment longer, and you will be free._

But the Inquisition’s agents sprang too quickly. The trap had only been partially sprung. A pool of liquid emerald spread across the air. Solas was too enthralled to react, but Dorian tried to stop it. Too late. Before Cassandra even had a chance to cry out, the Herald and Dorian were gone. Cassandra sprang to the spot where the Herald had stood, but was at a loss for what to do.

“What did you—” she started, but the air rippled again and Dorian and Lavellan stumbled through before she could finish the thought. For a moment, Solas thought the spell had backfired, but then Alexius slumped to the floor without a fight. _Something_ else had happened, but what? The Herald barely paid attention to the magister though, quickly rapping on Cassandra’s breastplate. “What are you— Oh!” exclaimed the Seeker, her face reddening as Lavellan impulsively squeezed her in a tight hug.

She approached him next. “What happened?” he asked and was surprised to see her eyes were red. She’d been crying. Or trying not to. She put a hand on his chest and he could feel a pulse of magic spread through him, questioning, as before. Was he really still there?  
“Are we too late?” she asked. He put a hand over hers to calm her shaking.  
“I don’t know what you mean, but it has only been a moment. Whatever you fear, it can’t have happened yet.” He folded her fingers farther into his and stepped closer. “What _happened_ Herald?”  
She opened her mouth but the sharp clang of several sets of armor interrupted her and they turned to see the King approaching them. He did not look pleased.

“The Inquisition is on shaky ground here, Herald,” said Cassandra softly. “We are meant to transcend national boundaries but technically we are occupying Fereldan land. If he orders us to leave…”  
“What should I do?” asked Lavellan.  
“The King was a Grey Warden once. Perhaps he will understand our greater purpose if you appeal to him.”

The Royal entourage had reached them and Cassandra fell silent, but her restless shifting betrayed her nervousness. Whatever distress Lavellan had experienced disappeared from view. Whatever Cassandra may feel, he could see the Herald was ready to greet the King as an equal. The tactic worked brilliantly. The King began the interview fuming at the mages but gradually relaxed in the face of the Herald’s calm response. He offered no resistance to Lavellan’s offer to bring them into the Inquisition. Seeing the King soften, Fiona made a last,desperate bid for her people.

“I suggest conscription,” said Cassandra abruptly. “The mages have shown what they are willing to resort to.”  
Solas shook his head. “They have lost all possible supporters. The Inquisition is their last remaining hope for freedom,” he reminded her gently. _Please be different. Please be kind, Mouseling,_ he willed her. He needn’t have worried. She didn’t even hesitate, welcoming the mages as equal allies. Cassandra scowled but King Alistair seemed relieved, even urging Fiona to take the offer.  
“As long as you are answerable for them, Herald,” said King Alistair, “the Inquisition is welcome within my borders. But I must insist the mages leave Redcliffe immediately.”There was no argument from the Herald. It seemed she could not put the castle behind her quickly enough. They followed the column of Inquisition soldiers and mages out of the small village.

The crowd was even larger and meaner than it had been on the way in.  
Cassandra watched the forming mob with distaste. He could sense her anger seething just below the surface. “You had to put your oar in, didn’t you Solas?” she hissed to him.  
He was surprised. Did she really think he had convinced the Herald with a few words? “I cannot regret doing so, Seeker, but it hardly seemed necessary. She’d made up her mind already.”  
Cassandra stalked off, barking orders at the soldiers. She didn’t speak to the party again until dinner.

Solas brushed it off. He was far more interested in the amulet Dorian was still holding and in getting the story of what had happened. Where had they gone?  
The Tevinter mage was fiddling with the gem in its gaudy setting as he walked. “What is its purpose?” he asked, closing the gap between himself and Dorian.  
“It sent us forward in time,” said Dorian absently.  
“Time magic? Can it help us go back, undo the explosion at the conclave?” Solas’s fingers itched to touch it.He wasn’t often surprised by this world’s limited version of magic, but this was something new. Something useful.  
But Dorian shook his head. “Alexius tried. We saw the result. He failed but it drove him mad. He was utterly devoted to something called the Elder One. He was feeding the mages red lyrium. Turning them into— well, I’m not really certain what. But it wasn’t good. You too, by the way. The Breach had spread beyond anything we see now. It didn’t seem to much matter though. The abominations were just as thick as flies on a corpse whether there was a rift nearby or not.” He held the amulet up to the sun. “Still, it might be worth studying the thing. Maybe we could figure out where he went wrong."

“I think you should destroy it,” said the Herald from ahead without turning. Solas had no idea she’d been listening. She didn’t offer her opinion lightly. But the amulet was powerful. It had potential. Whatever she had seen, it shouldn’t be rashly thrown away without study.  
“We should take care about using it, but certainly studying it might give us more options. It is something to consider,” he said.  
She dropped back to them shaking her head. “It will only attract this Elder One. Lead to misery and madness. Dorian said that Alexius was a good man once. If it can change him into— into what we saw, why should we be any different? Destroy it. If it remains it will only tempt us to try and make use of it.”  
“Is that an order, Herald?” he said it mildly but even Dorian could sense the tension between them.  
She started. “No, of course not. I hope that we are colleagues, if we are not yet friends. I wouldn’t presume to order anyone— it’s just an opinion. If you’d seen— it was a future you that warned us. What it cost you to do so—” she broke off and calmed herself with a deep breath. “I think we should get rid of it, but if you insist on studying it, I will not stop you.” She picked up her pace again and left him with Dorian who simply handed him the amulet.

  
“I don’t know what your game is,” said the Tevinter, “Your— um, _costume_ may have fooled some of the Inquisition and from what I understand, the Herald has spent most of her life experiencing only what the Dalish teach, so she can’t really be blamed for not knowing. But you don’t fade step the way I’ve seen you do by being a hedge mage your whole life.”  
Solas raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Dorian held up his hands and continued, “your secret is safe, because I’m not even certain what it is. But I will say that Alexius was one of the most powerful mages in Tevinter. He was meticulous about research as well. And he couldn’t figure it out.”  
“Perhaps between us, we may find something he missed,” said Solas, feeling the foreign power pulse through the amulet.  
Dorian shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the Herald’s smarter than you give her credit for.”


	6. Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nh3EV9SeJvY

By evening, they’d long outstripped the slow moving column and the crowds of gawkers. The Herald had sighed audibly in relief as they turned from the major road onto smaller, quicker pathways through the quiet fields of the Hinterlands. They could have camped at one of the Inquisition holdings, but nobody protested when she chose to press on. At last they found a small clearing more than halfway back to Haven. The sun was already down, a chill blanketing the ground as the trees sucked away the last glow of light. They worked quickly and efficiently to get the camp secure and warm, even Dorian, who was unused to the routine, helping where he could.

It was when they’d gathered around the fire to eat that Cassandra chose to pounce.  
“There will be abominations, Herald,” she said abruptly. Solas watched them carefully, curious what the reaction would be.  
Lavellan simply nodded. “Yes. A handful. Just as there will be a handful of bad soldiers who are nothing more than bloodthirsty murderers who signed up for an opportunity to kill with impunity.”  
“The mages are dangerous. Deadly, with nothing to rein them in,” insisted the Seeker.  
“Aren’t you as deadly in your way? Or Varric? Or Sera and Blackwall? Yet we do not take your sword or lock you away in a tower. We trust you to govern yourself.”  
Solas fought a triumphant smile. Cassandra shook her head. “It is not the same.”  
The Herald sighed. “We’ve gone around and around this. I tried to follow what you and the others thought best, but you couldn’t agree. Something had to be done or we’d just sit idle until the Breach consumed us. So I decided. I did my best. If you cannot bring yourself to trust my judgment, at least believe my intentions were good.”  
“Of course, Herald. You are right, there needed to be a choice. I apologize. Nothing good will come of second guessing now.” The Seeker rose from beside the campfire. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve all been— rattled by what you and Dorian saw. I think some rest would do us all some good.”

Dorian jumped at the opportunity to flee the awkward situation that he didn’t yet understand, and also bade them goodnight. Solas didn’t move from his spot across from Lavellan, instead watching her stare into the sinking flames.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I strong-armed my way into the party against your better judgment so that I could help you, and I failed—”  
She glanced up sharply, as if suddenly remembering he was there. “You didn’t fail, Solas. You _saved_ us. You— you walked out of the castle to face this Elder One, whatever he is. You _knew_ you were going to die and you did it anyway. To save us. To give us a chance.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of an arm but her tears didn’t stop.

A cold certainty washed over him then, that he’d been wrong. She _felt_. She felt and she hid it, just as he did. The same restraint he forced upon himself was what had kept her together in the past few months. The explosion, the imprisonment, the strangeness of the anchor and her sudden rise, she’d felt it _all_ and hadn’t broken. To see the cool exterior stripped away now, for him, it was devastating. He got up quickly and circled the fire, crouching beside her.

“Perhaps it was a trick, an illusion—” he started.  
She shook her head. “It was real. All of it. Terrible and real.”  
“You don’t need to mourn— we’re here, we’re all here. No one has died, nobody is suffering.”  
“But you _did_. All of you. That whole world. Just because it’s gone now doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.”  
He rocked back on his heels, feeling her words like a physical blow. “That world was sick. It had to be undone,” he stammered, though if he was trying to convince himself or her, he wasn’t certain.  
“I know,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean those people— those other selves didn’t exist or what they did was pointless. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t mourn. Even if I’m the only one that will remember them.”

The ache in his chest spread like an infection, like poison. It was impossible. Wasn’t it? Perhaps _he_ was the one caught in an illusion. She mimicked a person, but that was surely its extent. A very sophisticated facsimile. That was all. He was only hearing what he’d longed to hear, what he’d expected to hear since he’d woken. He’d been disappointed so often, it was only natural to misinterpret what she’d said. What she meant. He was attributing understanding to her that she couldn’t possibly possess. Not in this world. It was rotting, dead, like an old tooth. He had simply stumbled upon the death throes of an exposed nerve.

Nevertheless, he was deeply shaken. He needed to be away, especially from _her_. Needed to think it through.

“You’re exhausted, Herald,” he said, “You should rest. Things will look better in the morning. We are very close to sealing the Breach and then we can turn our thoughts to this Elder One and what he intends. We’ll stop it, we are forewarned and we will be ready.” He offered her a hopeful smile but she didn’t reflect it.  
“You go on ahead, Solas. The things I saw today will just follow me in my sleep.”

He hesitated. What he was about to offer was— intimate. And might expose him to questions. But the break in her voice echoed like a bell in his head. “I can help,” he said before he could stop himself.  
She looked at him, puzzled.  
“My— my experiences in the Fade have allowed me to manipulate it slightly. I can make sure you do not dream of Redcliffe— if you’ll allow me?”  
She was too exhausted to be curious, for which he was thankful. She simply nodded.  
“You will need to allow yourself to fall asleep.”  
A brief look of panic crossed her face and again he felt a piercing ache at her sudden vulnerability. “I will be with you,” he said.  
“Do you do this often?” she asked.  
_Never before,_ he wanted to tell her. “I normally prefer to see what the Fade has to show me. But in this case, I think a night’s peaceful rest might be preferable,” he said instead. He held out a hand toward a soft patch of moss just beyond the fire’s heat. She moved to lie down. He stretched out nearby and watched her settle, her eyes reluctantly closing.

It was tempting to pretend she was as helpless as she had been when they’d found her. A field mouse tangled in a wagon wheel. But even as he tried to convince himself it was an illusion, he knew he was seeing her more clearly than he ever had. He would never think of her as Mouseling again.  
“Solas,” she said, her words already heavy with sleep, her eyes still closed, “If this doesn’t work— don’t leave me alone in there. _Please._ ”  
He closed his eyes, unable to look at her. That barely mumbled plea was the thing that doomed him.  
“I promise, Lethallan,” he said.


	7. Lethallan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drNVoBPOBwQ

There was no time to recoup, not the next day, not for many days after. She understood all too well the need to seal the Breach and she pushed them all to get there as quickly as possible. She pushed herself even harder. He thought it was only the people of Haven in her thoughts as she walked, a light sheen of sweat magnifying her blood writing and ragged bursts of breath forcing themselves through her lips.

She didn’t complain. Dorian did enough of that for them all. But even Cassandra was flagging by the time they reached Haven and the mages were miles behind. Still, the Herald paced at the gate watching for them, impatient even after hours of walking. He stayed with her, sitting on a stone nearby and pretending to adjust the thick wrappings on his feet.

“They’ll be here, Herald. There were more of them, not all as young and fit as you.”  
She stopped to smile, but it turned nervous before she could stop herself. “In truth, I just don’t want to see Varric yet.”  
He looked up at her, surprised. “Varric may take some getting used to, but I’ve never known him to be— inhospitable. He has always been kind—”  
Lavellan shook her head. “I’m not scared of him. I don’t want to tell him about— you saw how upset he was by the red lyrium at the conclave ruins. Redcliffe was worse. So much worse.”  
“Ah. I see. Alexius chose his own path. It wasn’t your doing. And if this Elder One intends to use the red lyrium as you and Dorian saw, then we all must be prepared. If you do not tell him, Cassandra will.”  
“Or you?”  
He hesitated. “If you wish. But of us all, you may have a— gentler approach.”  
She stopped pacing. “I thought you were friends.”  
Solas sighed. “It is kind of you not to notice, but I sometimes— things are sometimes easier with my older friends. I find myself— occasionally at a loss with Varric or Cassandra or Iron Bull.”

She sat beside him on the rock, careful to leave space between them. “You mean things are easier with your spirit friends, in the Fade.”  
He bristled, drawing himself inward, farther away. “Yes,” he snapped, internally bracing himself for criticism.  
Instead she said, “Have you recognized any? That have come through the rifts, I mean.”  
He shook his head. “No. Most spirits will try to stay away from the tears. My friends seem to have fled, for a time.”  
“What would happen if they— would they be like us? Or like— like the things we fight?”

The word lay pulsing between them, unspoken but screaming. _Demon._ She was asking if he was an abomination. Politely, but still asking.  
“If they were pulled through the rift, it would likely be against their will. It would make them— different. Not themselves. Like the ones we fight.”  
He held his breath, waiting for the blow to drop.  
“I’m so sorry,” she said and he glanced over at her, startled to see her face stricken and sad. “Every time we close a rift you must wonder. Is there no way for us to let them through without changing them?”  
He smiled. “If it was you helping them through, then perhaps. You have surprised me more than once. But otherwise— no. Not the way the world is now. All we can do is fix the Breach.” _And find another way to dissolve the Veil. The right way,_ he thought.

She got up again. “As soon as the mages get here, we’ll go.”  
“Perhaps you should rest while you can then, Herald. It will only be a few hours.”  
She sighed. “Yes, well, I guess I can’t avoid Varric forever.” A shade of pallor washed over her face, making the blood writing stark and sharp on her skin. He touched her hand.  
“We are forewarned, Lethallan. We can stop what happened in Redcliffe before it ever starts. You needn’t relive it.”  
She nodded. “Thank you,” she said, “For— for last night too. I hope you’re right.” She passed through the gates before he could respond.

He forced himself to finish adjusting the wrappings on his ankle before getting up to follow her. Where had she come from? Why was she so different from all the others? If it had been anyone else— Sera would have been frightened. Maybe even attacked him. Blackwall too, maybe. Vivienne would have sneered. Even Cassandra and Varric would have been hesitant to accept that there were spirits that he considered friends. Her only concern had been _his_ losses. Yet he knew the Dalish didn’t make a habit of accepting mages who openly conversed with spirits. Their methods were almost more brutal than the templars. So where had she come from?

Varric and Dorian were already in the tavern when Solas made his way back into town. Both looked shaky and depressed, neither speaking very much.  
“Did Dorian tell you then?” Solas asked, joining them.  
Varric shook his head. “Nah, he’s just keeping me company. The Herald broke the news. Where’d it _come from,_ Chuckles?”  
“Maybe it hasn’t yet. Maybe wherever it will come from won’t ever be found now.”  
“ _You’re_ the optimistic one now? Why do I have a feeling that this shit is just getting started?”  
Dorian tossed back the last of the liquor in his glass. “The Herald has that— mark. She’s going to close the Breach right? Problem solved.”  
“I hope you’re right,” mumbled Varric. “Somehow I don’t think this ‘Elder One’ sounds like someone who’d give up just because we stitched up the hole he made. What is it he wants, anyway?”  
“That, Master Tethras, is an excellent question,” said Solas.

The question had been bothering him for some time. What did he hope to accomplish with the anchor? It might be a stroke of good fortune that Lavellan happened to be in the way at the time, but what had the original purpose been? Half of him hoped he’d never find out. He was getting sucked into the lives of these people. He needed this over with.  
Lavellan would seal the Breach tonight, and by tomorrow, he’d be free to seek the orb. Getting it back should be a small matter with the Inquisition’s help. And then he’d be free. No more entanglements. No more surprises. No more waiting to be disappointed or betrayed.

There was a rumble outside. The mages had arrived. Sera scowled as she looked out the tavern window. Solas was unsurprised when she turned the frown on him.  
“This is your fault, innit?”  
“Is what my fault?”  
“This magic rubbish. You put a bee in the Herald’s ear, I know it. Probably told her it was the ‘elf-y’ thing to do.”  
Solas exchanged a glance with Varric. Dorian tried to keep his face neutral. “You mean allying with the mages,” said Solas. “If it were my fault, I would be proud to claim it, but the Herald did it on her own. It was the _right_ thing to do, regardless of culture.”  
“I knew it. It was you. You and this— this Tevinter. Bullies. She didn’t stand a chance, did she?”  
“On the contrary, Cassandra argued most strenuously for conscription—”  
“Yeah but she doesn’t _like_ Cassandra. Not like that anyway.”  
Solas blushed, confused. Varric laughed. Sera kept fuming. “Don’t pretend you ain’t seen it. She’s in it and you know it. And now we’re all going to be arse deep in demons because of you.”

The tavern door swung open before she could embarrass him further. Commander Cullen began ordering troops out.  
“Time to fix the world,” said Varric, stopping to swallow the last of his ale. “C’mon Chuckles, the show isn’t going to start without you.” He winked and Solas glared at him, too flustered to do anything except follow.  
_Almost over,_ he told himself. The cluster of mages followed Cullen over the long stone bridge that separated Haven from what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The soldiers went next.

How she found him in the chaos, he’d never been able to figure out. She was a burning brand, a symbol. Depending on where they were, a halo of awe or dislike formed around her always. An uncrossable, sacred space. She was easy to pick out. But he was not. Everything he did was an attempt to blend in. He didn’t admit he had his own halo of untouchable space.

She offered him a rolled parchment. “If this goes badly— if it’s worse than the last try,” she said, as if that explained it.  
“What is this?” he asked, carefully taking the flimsy paper.  
“I know you do not like the Dalish—”  
“It’s not that I dislike—”  
She waved a hand, dismissing the argument for another time. “I know they did not welcome you, but you travel far enough to run into a clan on occasion.”  
He nodded, waiting.  
“If I don’t come back, they will wonder. It happens sometimes, when a hunt goes badly or when someone goes alone to trade. I’ve watched the waiting kill some people. It’s why we travel together. Wondering is worse than knowing.”  
“You want me to bring this to them.”  
“Not a special trip!” she said it quickly, as if he had protested. “If you run into any clans, they will get it back to mine.”

He held the scroll gently between his fingers and looked at it. The anxiety he felt was something new, something foreign. “Why are you asking me? Surely Josephine or Leliana would be able to get it there much quicker.”  
“I’m certain Josephine will notify my clan of my death, but they will not understand why I did this.” She blushed, and Solas realized she was ashamed.  
“Do _you_ understand why you are doing this?” he asked. Before Redcliffe, he’d assumed she was simply following the demands of others, frightened to stand up for herself, unable to refuse. Now— he wasn’t certain. She’d certainly shown backbone by recruiting the mages as equals. It hadn’t made her popular. She opened and closed her hand, flexing the mark.  
“I’m doing this because it’s right. I can’t just sit by and watch people get killed— elf or human or— or spirits when I have the power to stop it. When I’m the only one with the power to stop it. I know I could turn around. I know I could go home. Cassandra could lock me up, but she couldn’t make me use the anchor if I didn’t choose to. I know that. I’m not an unwilling slave. Is that what you think of us?”  
“No. That is not what I think of you. But if we are speaking of death—” his voice dropped away, as he realized what he had meant to say.

_I wanted you to know what you were dying for._ That’s what he had meant to say. But if his plans worked—  
“Solas?”  
He put a hand on her shoulder. “It won’t go wrong. I don’t need this.” He offered her the scroll, but she shook her head.  
“Please, just in case. I know I could give it to Josephine to send. But she is not my friend. As cordial as she and Leliana and Cullen are, they see me as a— a tool. A weapon maybe. When this is done, even if I’m still here, I’ll just be another elf away from her clan. Please, Solas. I’m asking you to do this because you’re— you’re my _friend._ ”

It struck him then, how lonely she really was. Even with all these people. He’d sought out solitude, he’d had plenty of reasons. If it had bothered him once, he’d long ago forgotten. He’d been alone for so very long. But the ache of it was new for her. She’d spent her whole life in the company of others. People who understood her, who _loved_ her. And out of all the strangers she’d met since this began, of all those who’d stood with her, she’d picked _him._

_What have you done?_ He asked himself. _She believes you are her friend. Yet of them all, YOU have used her most of all. You were willing to kill her to retrieve the mark. You’re STILL willing to kill her. And she trusts you._ Something twisted and clenched in his gut. A sick, low self-hatred wormed through him. What good were all his plans if he made an unwitting slave of her? He had realized she was more than a dull, emotionless beast in the shape of an elf. How could he justify using her? He was at a loss for words. So he nodded and slipped the scroll carefully into his jacket. She smiled and he wanted to tell her not to worry, that it wouldn’t be like the last time, but Varric walked by.

“You coming, Herald?” he asked. “This parade won’t be much good if you aren’t in it.”  
And she walked away. He touched the scroll with the tips of his fingers. The paper was brittle, fragile and crumbling at the edges. _Whatever happens, I will not use her anymore. The mark is beyond my grasp. I will not try to take it from her,_ he vowed to himself. _She will be free, like the others._ And realized with a few words she’d altered all of his plans.


	8. The Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9PKcRWu9KY

It was anticlimactic for everyone except the Herald. He’d wanted to insist to her that she’d be fine, even opened his mouth to tell her in the crater, but Cassandra had interrupted. It was for the best. She might have questioned why he was so certain. The lies were beginning to wear on him. He wasn’t certain he could sustain many more.

  
He’d almost laughed as her expression had changed to one of awe as the energy of the other mages flooded through her. _If only you knew,_ he’d thought, _if only you belonged to an earlier time._ The Breach contracted and then sealed, and the mages let their power fall away. He saw it in her when it happened. She’d spent too much of herself getting there. The soldiers cheered and she turned toward them and stumbled. He took a step toward her, but Cassandra got there first. The Seeker didn’t notice Lavellan’s fatigue, too busy with congratulations. But Solas could see the way she was leaning on her staff and the deep flush of her face.

“She’s going to fall over if she doesn’t quit soon,” said Varric, coming up beside him.  
“What do you care?” he snapped, “She’s closed it. She’s done what all of you wanted her to do.”  
“Hey now, Chuckles, that’s not fair. I’m certainly not in charge.”  
He rubbed his head. “You’re right of course, Varric, I apologize. I suppose we’re all tired.”  
“Maybe we can at least persuade her to eat something.” Varric headed down toward the Herald. “You coming?”

  
Solas frowned. He wanted to, he really did. He’d felt a sudden stab of loneliness since speaking to Lavellan. A quiet meal among them sounded— pleasant. But he still had work to do. Some for the Inquisition. Some for— other reasons. “Perhaps later, I need to be certain it’s closed.”Varric laughed. “Even when we save the world, you’re still looking for problems.” He shook his head. “Suit yourself, but I’m taking the Herald.”

He lingered long after everyone else had departed. Too long. It was his first opportunity to find out what had gone wrong. His agents had told him little of Corypheus, the man who had activated his orb. They had no direct contact with him, only the Venatori who served him. The name sounded Tevinter, but what did a fumbling Tevinter mage have to do with this Elder One? And what had he intended in the first place?

Before the Breach was sealed, he’d had no chance to investigate. Every time he’d tried, he’d either had to retreat from the endless packs of abominations or someone from the Inquisition interrupted him. When he was finally alone in the crater, he leaned against his staff and slipped into the Fade. Over hundreds of long, lonely watches he’d gradually learned to doze while standing, a talent that had served him well, kept him safe. It was easy now, an old habit long worn into.

Memory and emotion overlapped thickly here. Centuries of pilgrims and temple guardians, all waiting. All hoping. Andraste herself, endlessly burning in the Fade. _Pitiable woman._ That was his fault too, though he’d been in deep sleep at the time. Without the Veil, none of it would have happened. Not the rebellion, not the pyre, not the thousands of misled worshippers. Not the holy wars waged since.

But this was not what he had come here for. He could find grief and guilt everywhere he wandered. He was here to change it. He tried to focus, spooling through time as the temple emptied and sat silently decaying around him in the centuries that the humans had forgotten it. Until the Hero of Ferelden arrived and the pilgrims returned. This time, it was with great joy. If only they knew what had been before. If they could see what real joy was once. Instead, they felt the world as if through a thick blanket of wool. So remote, so muffled and easy to misinterpret. What a waste. He dismissed the regret and moved on.

It was the Grey Wardens that made him pause. He was being pulled toward the explosion, the emotion was so magnified, thousands of lost thoughts calling out to him. Memories of intense pain, of terror, multiplied over and over. But he already knew what he’d find in the aftermath of the destruction and he resisted. He combed through the visions until he found the Gray Wardens standing near the altar, their faces grim and resolved.

What were they doing here? And then he saw his orb. So strong was the urge to reclaim it, that Solas actually reached out for it, though he knew it was only a shadow. The creature holding it— this was no Tevinter mage. Not anymore. It was— something else. Something tainted and more powerful than Solas had believed possible in this age. For the first time in almost a millennium, Solas was _frightened_.

He watched as the Divine was dragged before the tall, twisted blight that called itself Corypheus. The Grey Wardens held her still and the awful spell began. She cried for help. And Lavellan came running to aid her. Alone. Always alone. He cringed at the sight of the elf, so small in front of the massive monster. But she tried to help anyway. She _did_ help, he realized as the orb was knocked away and rolled toward her feet.

“No!” he cried as she bent to touch it, as if he could change what had happened. The orb burned into her, he could see the shock and pain wash over her face. And then she was gone, just as a blast of heat and light swept through the temple. Justinia, too, had disappeared, but not the wardens or Corypheus. Solas ignored their death throes, looking for the orb. Had it gone with the Herald? Who had picked it up?

“Master Mage,” a voice shook him roughly from the Fade. He was once again grateful for the illusion that his standing slumber had provided as he turned to face the scout. Nobody would know what he was doing. What he’d seen.  
“Yes?” he asked.  
“Seeker Pentaghast requests a report on the Breach.”  
Solas nodded. “Of course. You may tell her the Breach is fully sealed. The scar will likely remain, but it is stable.”  
The scout eyed the ragged seam above them, but simply nodded and left.

Solas sighed. If he stayed any longer it would raise suspicion. He longed to know who had picked up the orb, but it would take time to enter the Fade and sort through the visions again. It would have to wait. He’d return after Haven was sleeping off its celebration. The immediate danger was over in any case. What harm would a few more hours do? The Breach was closed, Corypheus dead in the blast. Whoever had the orb now had likely stumbled upon it and had no clue what it was or how to use it.

Upon returning to Haven, he was surprised to see the impromptu soldiers’ camp being dismantled amidst the celebrations.  
“What is happening?” he asked Cullen. The commander grinned and smacked him on the back.  
“We did it. It’s over. The soldiers are being dismissed for regular duty.” He was uncharacteristically cheerful. Solas wondered if he’d been drinking.

The commander confirmed it by winking and adding, “You, my friend, should take the opportunity to disappear while you can. I expect in a few days the mages will be returned to some Circle or other and a lone apostate can easily get lost in the chaos, one way or another.”  
The _sky_ had ripped open and still nothing had changed. This world, this era, was hopeless. Solas felt his guilty conscience evaporate. “The Herald promised the mages their freedom if they assisted us,” he said.  
“Come now, Solas,” said Cullen, still enough in control of himself to lower his voice, “We both knew that wasn’t going to happen. They’ve been cast out of every territory on the continent except Tevinter. And you saw what Tevinter was prepared to do with them. Even if they found places to go separately, scared townsfolk would run them off. Or worse.”  
“At least they’d die _free,_ ” Solas snapped. Cullen seemed to sober very quickly.  
“For people like us, that’s preferable. But for many of _them,_ that’s not enough. They’d rather live, even in captivity. So they’ll have to band together again. And if they want to find a place who will accept them, they’ll have to agree to certain— restrictions. Perhaps harsher than before. I hope Vivienne is as competent a negotiator as she seems. Not everyone has the stomach for wandering and solitude that you do, Solas. Some of them will have to rely on the charity of others.”  
The commander hadn’t meant it as a jab, but it hit home anyway. “Lavellan won’t allow that to happen,” he protested.  
Cullen smothered a surprised laugh. “What can she do? Even if her clan could support an army of mages and were willing to do so, they exist on the whims of human nobles who can order them away or attack them at any time. You, of all people should know how tenuous their lives are. Do you know how many times the Inquisition has sent troops to defend them already? And after tomorrow— People will forget that Lavellan is the Herald. In a few months, they’ll have forgotten even the Breach. She’ll just be another Dalish elf wandering the wild.”  
“She saved— _everyone._ ”  
“I know,” said Cullen, his tone sympathetic and serious. “I remember. But the world won’t.”  
Solas was furious.  
“Cheer up,” the commander encouraged him, “I think anonymity is exactly what the Herald wants. She never sought this out.”  
“Where is she?” He fumed, as if it were _her_ fault.  
“Varric persuaded her to retire several hours ago. She looked ready to keel over.”  
“At least _someone_ has some sense.” He stalked off, leaving Cullen to shrug and return to the soldiers and their ale.

She wasn’t sleeping, not anymore. He saw her sitting on the low wall near the chantry, looking down at the chaos. He approached her, careful to mask his turmoil with a smile.  
“May I?” he asked, indicating a spot beside her.  
“Please,” she said, returning his smile, though hers seemed warmer.  
“You aren’t packing,” he glanced sideways at her. It wasn’t a question.  
She wrinkled her brow, confused. The vallaislin jumped and warped. “Why would I pack?”  
“The Breach is sealed. The soldiers will be dismissed. Everyone will go home.”  
“We haven’t found the person responsible for all this yet. This Elder One. And you said there was an artifact— something powerful enough to destroy the temple. I promised you we’d find it.” She paused and considered. “I intend to stand by that promise, even if it is just you and I looking for it.”

He looked down at the villagers dancing and drinking with the Inquisition forces. Cullen was right; their memories extended no further back than the current crisis. They’d move on to the next one in a day or two.  
“You also promised the mages their freedom,” he said quietly.  
“I know. I mean to keep that one too.”  
He stared at her. “ _How?_ ” he asked, holding her gaze.  
“I hope our actions here have softened King Alistair. If not— there are still hidden places in the world. You must know that. The Dalish know many. Places we go when the world will not tolerate us. Places we go in order to survive when we are hunted like prey. I will take them. I will give them one of these places. The Dalish will honor my promise because they will see the true value of what the mages have done, even if the humans cannot.”

Of course she had meant to keep her promise. Of course she’d had a plan. He’d expected her to rely on the power of her name to protect the mages, but she’d realized how fragile that power was before he had. From the beginning she’d been clear-headed about how transitory her position was and had been prepared to lay aside the label of “Herald” as soon as the time came.  
“You’re disappointed with me,” she said sadly. “I will think of a better way.”  
“No! You misinterpret— I was thinking of a place I know. A hidden fortress, somewhere we can take them—” he began, but Haven’s bells clanged a frantic warning and she sprang up.  
“The gate!” she cried and leapt away.


	9. Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq0XJCJ1Srw

He was torn. He wanted to follow the Herald to the gate. She still appeared drained and he was afraid she didn’t realize how much energy sealing the Breach had taken. But most of him needed to know what was coming. He’d found himself becoming accustomed to knowing more and sooner than the people around him. It was addictive. And the sight of Corypheus had been unexpected and frightening. He didn’t want to be taken unaware twice in one day. He spared a last glance for the Herald and saw Dorian and Cassandra already flanking her.

He fade stepped outside the palings and then to the bridge. From here he could see the force in the mountains. And something else, too. A boy. He was running for the gate. Solas could see a small scouting party tracking him. The boy stumbled and Solas realized he wouldn’t make it to the gate. He was beside the boy before he’d even risen from the snow.

  
“There are too many!” the boy cried.  
“I know,” hissed Solas through gritted teeth. He was already casting.  
“Not for me,” said the boy, leaping at the nearest scout, a small knife flickering in his hand. He jumped away again as the scout fell. “For you. For your friends. He wants _her._ He’ll kill the others to get to her.”  
“How do you know?” Solas froze another scout in his tracks.  
“It’s not what you think.” The boy touched him and Solas was flooded with understanding.  
“You’re— how is this possible?” He forgot the soldier bearing down on them in his shock. The boy— no, not a boy, the _spirit_ darted in front of him and slashed. The soldier crumpled in a heap.  
“After. We have to warn her.”  
Solas nodded and hurled a bolt of ice at another foe. “Go! I’ll hold them off.”

The boy took off, sprinting for the gate. He was shouting to be let in. It would be madness to open the gate for a strange boy in the middle of a siege. Cullen would never allow it.  
_Please, Lethallan, let him in,_ he willed, retreating as he cast ice mines over the approach. He heard the gate creak open behind him and fade stepped back beyond the palings. He was close enough to hear the boy mention Corypheus and he froze. It _couldn’t_ be. He raced up the steps of a nearby watchtower and scanned the approaching mass. It _was._ The bent figure towered over everything surrounding it. How had he survived the temple? He hadn’t. Solas had _seen_ him burst into flame— had seen his corpse in the aftermath. Yet there stood Corypheus, in the midst of a force the tiny Inquisition stood no chance of defeating.

Unless Solas could get to the orb. He glanced down at the Herald’s hand. It leaked light between her folded fingers. He shut his eyes. _No. I will not use her._ It was too late to plan, the enemy was already upon them. The soldiers did their best to hold them back, Cullen and Cassandra with them. For a moment, he hesitated behind the line. He ought to stay and heal. But Vivienne and Dorian were already heading a large group of the mages and Lavellan was racing past with Iron Bull and the boy.

It all moved so _fast._ Solas was not used to being unsettled, especially in war. He joined the Herald, anxious to be doing, to push the questions aside and just take action. They headed for the siege machinery. The enemy did not make it easy. _Templars,_ he thought with contempt. Corypheus was attempting a sweep of every major player in Thedas. He’d gained the Templars and the Gray Wardens, then made a bid for the mages too. If Dorian was right about the future he and the Herald had seen in Redcliffe, Corypheus would target Orlais next. He’d obviously been gathering allies since before Solas had even woken. How _stupid_ he’d been to allow his orb to fall into this thing’s hands.

The boy touched him. “You didn’t know. How could you know? Everything is different. Everything is wrong.”  
“After,” Solas said, echoing the boy.

They’d reached the trebuchet, but the templars just kept coming. Wave after wave. Iron Bull struggled to crank the weapon while they fought. A huge beast leapt over the palings. Solas thought it might once have been a man, but now, great scarlet crystals burst from its chest and had swallowed it’s head entirely.  
“What is that?” he asked.  
“It’s a templar. Just like Redcliffe,” said the Herald. Her hands were shaking around her staff. The boy clutched his head as if it hurt.  
Solas began to cast. “Don’t let it touch you!” Lavellan cried.  
“It’s not going to get that close,” he said. But the ball of ice didn’t even phase it.

The boy danced around it, afraid to get close enough to strike and the Herald flung lightning at it, intending to slow it. But he had been right, she was utterly drained. Her spell was weak. This was going to kill her. Solas cast again. The thing charged and swung a great club, throwing him aside. He smashed against Haven’s inner wall, feeling splinters drive into his back. His breath groaned out of him and he gasped. When he was able to rise, he saw Iron Bull smashing the templar with his axe. The crystals shattered and the templar slumped onto the ground. Iron Bull grunted and smiled. The boy smiled back.

“Quick Bull, the trebuchet,” said Lavellan. He cranked it again and was about to pull the lever. “Wait!” she cried and began shoving the back end. “Not at the army. There’s too many. At the mountain,” she huffed. The boy was trying to help, his flimsy arms pushing underneath hers.  
“You want to shoot the mountain?” asked Bull, scratching near one horn. He looked up at the mountain. Solas did too.

_Brilliant,_ he thought, and started to help her inch the machine into place. Iron Bull’s growing grin let him know they all understood what she’d planned.  
“Ready, Boss?” the massive Qunari asked as she backed away. She held up one hand in front of her eyes, checking the line.  
“Do it.”  
He pulled the lever. The roar of the snow as it tumbled was exhilarating. It swept everything before it, tree and templar and demon. After a few seconds the valley was still and smooth. Iron Bull laughed and slapped Lavellan on the back. The soldiers were cheering, but the boy looked pale and pulled his hat further over his head.

“Not over,” he warned. “He’s still coming.”  
“What?” she asked, but there was no time for more. The dragon’s screech rent the air and a blast of flame disintegrated the trebuchet next to them. They ran for the gate, the shadow of great, tattered wings wheeling over them. Cullen was pulling people back to the Chantry, but some were left behind.

“We have to help,” yelled the Herald, fighting the cries of soldiers and the crackle of flame to be heard. “Split up and find everyone.”  
“No!” he shouted back, “You’re exhausted, you won’t be able to defend yourself.”  
“Go! We don’t have time to argue.” The boy and Iron Bull were already sprinting away.  
“I’m not leaving. It’s you he wants.”  
“I’ll be okay, besides I already closed the Breach, you don’t need me anymore. I’m no more important than the villagers,” she held up her marked hand and smiled. “It’s just a pretty souvenir.”  
He shook his head. “That’s not what I think of you. And I’m not leaving. We can stand here arguing, or we can get moving.”

She nodded and they raced to help a group of cornered soldiers. The jolt of energy she’d had from the excitement of battle quickly wore off and she was reduced to weak pulses from her staff before long, allowing Solas to do most of the heavy lifting. Even so, by the time they reached the chantry she was stumbling and he helped her up the small set of steps. Everyone else was already inside. Cassandra was pacing and Varric had been perched in the front window looking for them.

“Herald, are you injured?” asked the Seeker.  
“No, no I’m fine. Just a little tired,” she gasped. Solas exchanged a glance with Varric. The boy, Cole, to give him the name he’d chosen, was sitting with a wounded Roderick. Solas moved to help him, but Cole shook his head.  
“No good. He’s only waiting to see Haven’s people safe.”

But that didn’t seem likely. Cullen was laying out a last battle plan. One that would wipe them out at the same time as Corypheus. And the Herald was listening. Mother Giselle called him over to help others and he lost the thread of the conversation. But when he looked up between spells, any hope that had been in her face was gone, replaced with a hardness that hurt him to see. The others looked no more cheerful. Even Cassandra looked stricken.

Suddenly, everyone was moving. Except the Herald. She stood in front of the door, alone. He stood up and took a step toward her. “We need you,” said Mother Giselle, touching his sleeve.  
“There are others— many healers among the mages.”  
She shook her head. “Not enough.”  
“You have to go,” murmured Cole as he passed, Roderick draped over him. “This is bigger than her.”  
He glanced back at her.  
“You _promised,_ ” Cole called back. “You promised to bring it to them. You can’t if you’re dead.”

He touched the parchment still tucked in his jacket. It was warm. Cullen was shouting for the soldiers to lift the wounded and stretchers swept past him. Blackwall and Iron Bull were both carrying a villager. The chantry whirled with panic.  
“Come with us,” said Mother Giselle. “Let her do what she must.”

The front doors opened and a gust of chill wind rattled through the stone building, blowing out candles and chasing the refugees. Lavellan was leaning on her staff. She shivered and pulled up her collar. She straightened and took a deep breath. Solas picked up his own staff and walked toward her.

“Thought you’d never join us,” said Varric from where he leaned against a pillar. Solas hadn’t even noticed him. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Cassandra adjusting her gloves as she walked. The Herald turned around.  
“You don’t have to—” she started.  
“Nonsense,” said Cassandra. “I dragged you into this, I’m not going to just abandon you.”  
Varric swept a hand up his crossbow. “Bianca was getting bored anyway.”  
She turned her gaze to him and the hope he saw return to her face almost made him choke with grief. “I’m your _friend,_ ” was all he said.

They stepped out into the snow. There were a few templar stragglers between them and the trebuchet, but most had been swallowed by the avalanche. Cassandra had pushed the Herald behind them and told her to save her energy. He wasn’t the only one who could see how exhausted she was. They lined the trebuchet up. And then the dragon was upon them. They scattered but the Herald was knocked aside. An enormous wall of flame erupted from the ground, cutting her off from their aid.

“Put it out, Solas, I can’t see to shoot,” shouted Varric.  
“I’m trying!” He cast frantically, over and over, but it had no effect. Corypheus had the orb and Solas was still too weak to overcome his magic. Cassandra paced the length of the flames as he tried to quell them. The roar of the fire made it impossible to hear what was happening.

“It’s no good,” she said at last. “We’ll have to cover the retreat. We can’t do anything here.”  
“It will kill her!” he protested, still trying to concentrate on another spell.  
“She’d want you to go, Solas,” said Varric sadly. “She’d ask you to, if she could.”  
“And I’d refuse,” he insisted. Varric put a hand on his staff and held it still. He waited until Solas looked away from the flames and into the dwarf’s face.  
“It’s time to leave.”

He let them lead him to the mountain pass at a run. He looked over his shoulder more than once. They were halfway up when the chantry disappeared under a tide of ice and snow.  
“She did it,” said Cassandra. She crouched down where she was and looked down at the blank spot where Haven had been. Varric looked at his feet. Cassandra made a swipe at her eyes. Solas turned away and shut his own.


	10. Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrmxDHGpreA

They could see the glow of the camp’s lights flickering over the snow when he felt it. It was familiar now, that pulling pulse of magic. She was looking for them. Looking for _him_. He wheeled around without saying a word and started back down the mountain. After a few seconds, Varric looked back and realized he wasn’t there.

  
“You forget something, Chuckles?” he yelled.  
“Yes,” Solas called back without stopping.  
“What?”  
“The Herald.”

Snow slithered past him as the other two raced to catch up with him. “She’s _gone,_ Solas. I don’t like it any more than you but turning back isn’t—”  
“She’s _not_ gone, Seeker. She’s alive and she’s looking for us.”  
“That’s impossible. There’s no way anything survived that.”

Varric held up a hand to stop Cassandra. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Solas, struggling to keep up with the long-legged elf in the deep snow. “How do you know?” he panted.  
“I know. I can feel— it’s a mage thing. Go ask Dorian if you don’t believe me,” he lied, waving in the direction of the camp.

It _wasn’t_ a mage thing. It was an anchor thing. At least, he thought it was. He didn’t have time or the inclination to explain.

Cassandra stopped and exchanged a look with Varric, who shook his head and shrugged. “She’s under a dozen feet of snow,” she protested.  
“She’s _alive._ Exhausted and probably injured and freezing, but alive, Seeker.”  
“At least wait until we get help— Sera, Leliana, they can track her—”  
“Send them after me,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll leave a trail.” With a flick of his hand he set an abandoned wagon aflame to demonstrate. He had no time left to argue. The pulse was getting weaker.

The snow stung his skin as he walked, flung against him by a whipping wind. He didn’t waste spells on warming himself, pulling up his hood instead and igniting anything that would catch along the way. The panic kept him focused for a while, but gradually an awareness of his own misery crept up on him. He was exhausted and cold, his clothes soaked through and his feet beyond aching. Why was he doing this?

He tried to push the question aside. “Herald,” he called as the chantry steeple came into view, poking through the snow. There was no answer. He called again, and then again, trying to remember where the trebuchet had sat without landmarks. He began calling her name instead. There was still no answer. The wind swirled and lifted the snow from the straw roof of his old cottage. He set it on fire. In the flickering light he saw something glittering against the snow and he trudged toward it. His foot snagged something and he tripped, falling next to the object. It was her staff’s focus.

“Herald, I’m coming!” He started to cast, but halted, afraid he would hit her. He dug in the snow with his bare hands, following the staff down. It had snapped in the middle. He made a small hole around it, and when he reached the bottom without finding a hand or a face or a shred of cloth, he hurled the useless stick out of the hole. He clawed frantically at the sides to make the hole larger. She had to be nearby.

Part of him knew she must have drowned or been crushed by the ice hours before. His mind whispered it. He hadn’t felt anything in almost an hour. Either she’d stopped looking or— He dug harder, his fingers splitting against the sharp ice crystals. Spots of dark spattered around him. He didn’t realize he was bleeding.

Why was he doing this? There was no shoving the question aside this time. _Have to save the mark,_ he told himself. _I need it to find the orb._ But his own promise mocked him. _You vowed not to use her again. It’s not the mark. You’d be here if the mark had disappeared after the Breach._ He began casting bursts of flame, too panicked to care whether he singed her now. He was holding his breath, as if it were he, and not her, drowning under the snow. It hissed under his hands, melting into little rivers, shrinking away. _You miss her._ He tried to justify the thought. Of course he missed her. They had been colleagues, friends. _It’s more. You’d be here for no one else. Not when you knew they were dead._ He’d reached the dirt and made a sizable pit. She wasn’t here. He tried calling to her again. He tried reaching out with his magic. There was no response.

_She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone._

He tried to shut it out, tried to concentrate on climbing out of the pit, but it was no good. He could concentrate on nothing but the cold pit behind him and the hollow ache in his own chest. There was only one thing to do. The snow had become a blizzard anyway, already coating the patch of dirt he had made. He was tired and filthy. Flakes of ice stuck to his skin and lashes. He’d never make it back to the camp. He used the last of his magic to melt a hole in the snow in front of the chantry’s steeple window. The glass had broken during the avalanche and he slid down a drift of snow into the building. He stumbled into Roderick’s room and lit a fire, hoping the chimney was still clear. He dropped his soaking clothes in front of the hearth and sank into the bed. He was almost asleep when he noticed the scroll sticking out of his jacket. He crawled out of bed to take it gently out of the pocket. The edges were damp and he hoped the ink hadn’t run. He was still holding it when he entered the Fade.

But she wasn’t there, either. He wasn’t certain if it was a good sign or not. He tried to go back, to see what had happened to her after they’d been separated, but he could find nothing. Perhaps it was too recent, too raw even for the Fade to reflect. Or perhaps it meant she lived still, and her memory of it was still changing. He woke unsatisfied, but not without hope.

“Solas!” The call was distant, muffled. He sat up. It was coming from outside. They were looking for him. He dressed in his still damp clothes and clambered up the snow drift, squeezing out of the window again.  
“Where you been?” Sera was squinting at him in the bright sunlight, one hand on her hip. “Been looking for your sorry arse for hours.”  
“It wasn’t me you were meant to be looking for,” he grumbled.  
“You still on about the Herald?” she asked. “Thought you had all-knowing magicky stuff. She wandered into camp hours ago.”  
“Is she all right?”  
“Weell—”  
“Take me to her. Now Sera!”  
“All right, all right, keep hold of your breeches. Varric made us bring the horses. Said it’d be faster. I was for letting you walk. Serve you right if your toes fall off, scaring us like that.”

He glared at her, but in truth, he was touched that they had worried for him. After news of the Herald, he was inclined to interpret anything favorably. _Why does it matter so much to you?_ This time he didn’t bother brushing the thought away. This time the answer was as permanent and undeniable as stone. _Because I care for her._ It ought to have caused him anxiety. But in the bright sun, on his way back to her, it only made him glad.


	11. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ym3uCDVWKfI

Varric glanced up from his book. He almost tipped the chair in his hurry to stand. “She came in last night, just as Sera and Leliana were headed out.”  
“Is she injured?” Solas asked, but didn’t wait for a response, kneeling by the low bed.  
“Her wrist is broken— that _thing_ mangled it. A few ribs too. Mostly she was frozen and exhausted, just like you said.”

He frowned. “Has no one treated her?”  
Varric smiled but smothered it quickly. “She won’t let anyone near her. Says she’s waiting for you.”  
“For me?”  
This time the dwarf grinned broadly and shrugged. “No accounting for taste,” he joked.  
“And I made her wait all this time,” he groaned.  
“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you—” Varric started.

The Herald opened her eyes and the conversation died. “You’re back,” she said.  
Solas smiled and closed a hand gently over hers. “ _You’re_ back,” he answered. “We were concerned.”  
Varric cleared his throat. “I’ll— let you get to work,” he said and ducked out of the tent, whistling.  
“You must be in pain. I apologize for making you wait so long.”

Her smile faded. “You look _awful_.”  
He laughed and said, “But _you_ are the most wonderful thing I’ve seen today.” She blushed, glowing beneath the vallaislin. It was like watching her through prison bars, and he felt a flare of regret. Of all the things that had been lost or misplaced over the centuries, why had _that_ tradition remained?  
“I didn’t mean—” She tripped over her words in haste and took a slow sip of breath. She winced and he could tell her chest pained her. “Varric told me what you did. Thank you.”  
“I promised you a search party,” he said, but then his smile evaporated. “I’m sorry you had to make the journey by yourself. I couldn’t find you in time.”  
“I followed your fires. I wouldn’t have found this place otherwise.”

He did not look comforted, so she tried again. “You tried. Nobody else did.”  
He shrugged. “You didn’t— _reach out_ to anyone else.” He held a hand over her chest, intending to start a healing spell. She lifted his hand with her good one.  
“You’re hurt,” she cried.  
“Yes, well, an eventful night was had by all,” he said with another gentle smile.  
She pressed her palm to his, the tips of her fingers reaching just under the first crease of his. A soft tingle crept through his skin and the cuts on his hand closed.  
“Thank you,” he said.  
“Give me the other.”  
“Lethallan, you are in far greater pain. Let me help.”  
She shook her head. “Not until you let me help _you_. You’ve done a great thing for me, I can at least do this.”

He brushed a stray hair from her face and let his hand rest beside her face on the pillow. “You have done a great thing for _all_ of us. You owe _no one_.” He felt the prickle of tears and blinked them back. He was disoriented by the wild swing of his own emotions and tried to rein them in. His hand shook slightly over her chest. She sighed with relief as the bones knit together and her breaths became slow and deep. He shook his head. “You should have let another healer help you.”

Her eyes were closed but she shook her head slowly. “Had to make sure they’d go find you. If you didn’t come back. Had to use this defying death thing to some advantage. They wouldn’t let me die _now_.” She smiled. “Sera was grumpy about it. Said if you went off without boots and your toes turned black and fell off, she wasn’t going to carry you back.”  
He snorted. “Sounds about right. She said something similar when she found me.” He tried to be gentle with her broken wrist but her eyes flew open even so. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning many things, and bathed it in a soothing spell. His expression darkened at the cruel bruises that circled her wrist. Corypheus had done this.

She noticed his expression. “I told her if she found you without feet, she bloody well _would_ carry you back or I’d touch her with the mark and eternally curse her,” she said lightly. She was trying to make him feel better. It was working.  
“It doesn’t work like that,” he said dryly.  
Her smile grew broader. “Sera doesn’t know that.”  
He tested the healing, gently opening and closing her fingers and rotating her wrist. “I wish I’d known ahead of time. I would have faked frostbite just to see her reaction.”

She smiled and twisted her fingers between his, sending an arc of magic through his hand. She’d healed the other one. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t waste your energy. You need to rest.”  
“I suspect you do too,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back.” She squeezed his hand and released it.  
“Rest,” he insisted, “We can speak when you wake. I will not be far.”  
She nodded and closed her eyes.

He took Varric’s seat and waited beside her, expecting she would be restless. The encounter with Corypheus was bound to lead to nightmares.  
“She won’t. She’s forgotten him for a while,” said someone from the tent flap. Cole’s hat pushed through. “It’s you she’s thinking of. She’s glad you’re home.”  
“Home?”  
“It wasn’t before. Not while you were gone. But now it is. She doesn’t miss her clan when you are with her.”  
Solas felt a warmth spread through his chest, but a stray thought nagged at him.

He had been happy to realize what he felt for her, but he’d been certain she’d never feel the same. It was _safe_ for him to love her. He’d only hurt himself. But if she— _Nonsense._ He brushed it away as impossible.“Why impossible?” asked Cole.  
“Shh,” Solas said, pointing to the sleeping Herald.  
“Please let me stay, the others are arguing. It makes my head hurt,” the boy whispered. He held out a rough sack. “You’re hungry. I wanted to help.”  
Solas nodded with a smile and they moved to sit on the floor of the tent closer to the fire and far enough from the Herald to talk quietly.

“She tried to refuse her meal,” said Cole holding out the bag. “She wanted to save it for you. She thought you’d be hungry.”  
“You didn’t let her, did you?”  
He shook his head. “No. She was like a dying oven. She would have flickered out. I found this instead. It isn’t fancy.”  
Solas opened the bag to find a round of cheese and a loaf of bread. “It’s perfect, thank you.” He broke the loaf in half and offered it to Cole. “Will you join me?”  
Cole shook his head. “I don’t— I’ve never—”  
Solas nodded. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The boy tilted his head and stared at the Herald for a moment. “He’s not gone, and he still has it. It’s not there.”  
“You mean Corypheus?”  
“Yes. And what you are looking for. He has it, it’s not in Haven. You don’t need to feel bad about searching for her instead.”  
Solas felt his hackles rise. “What do you know about what I’m looking for?” he asked, and already his fingertips crackled with silver flame. He’d expended too much energy in the past few days, but he could still take out a young boy, spirit or not.  
But Cole didn’t flinch. “She was right, you know. She said things might be different if you tried another way. I am not a trap.”  
The magic ebbed away. “Will you tell them?” he asked. He was so weary. It would almost be a relief if the boy exposed him.  
Cole frowned. “It will not help them to know. Corypheus would not change. And it would hurt you. It would hurt _her_. I didn’t come to hurt.”  
“Why _did_ you come?”  
“Only to help.” He straightened suddenly, as if hearing a distant voice. “It’s Roderick’s time. I have to go.”

Solas nodded and the boy scrambled to his feet. He ducked out of the tent and then stuck his head back in. “He can’t try again,” he whispered, glancing at the Herald. “While she has the Mark, he can’t. That’s why he hunts her. You must make her the better hunter.” And he was gone.


	12. Warrior Saint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Dg-g7t2l4

He was uncertain how to feel about what Cole had said. It was a relief that nothing like the explosion at the Conclave could happen again— at least, not because of _him_. But the mark was poison. The longer she carried it, the worse it would get. How long could a mortal endure? Solas had no idea. The last time he’d been awake, the elves hadn’t been mortal.

Her arm was lying across her chest. The light leaked from her palm in a small halo. Was it brighter than it had been? He paced the tent, aching to examine the mark, but fearing he’d wake her. If she knew why he was looking, she’d be frightened.

He gave up pacing and sat beside her on the chair. _It isn’t going to kill her overnight,_ he told himself. But the chain of thoughts couldn’t be stopped. How much had it grown because of her contact with the orb in Haven? Had it expanded when she sealed the Breach? Why hadn’t he _looked_?

_Because you were too busy gawking at her face. This is the mess getting attached makes._ He scrubbed his face with his palms. He had to check. He’d never be able to rest if he didn’t. She shifted in her sleep, turning to her side. He waited until her breathing smoothed. _You’re being ridiculous. A day ago you would have done it already._ He carefully turned her palm up.

It was bigger. Just by a hair’s breadth, maybe two. Nobody else would notice, maybe not even her. But he’d seen it so many times now— dreamed it so many times, he could tell. _It’s your fear tricking you,_ he told himself, but was unconvinced. It was growing. He had to find a way to stop it. He pretended it was for the world’s sake, the Inquisition’s sake. He had to keep her alive to prevent Corypheus from trying again. He tried to ignore the breathless clutch of his lungs when he thought about her shrinking lifespan. _So short, so short already. There must be a way to give back those years, to return all of the breaths I’ve stolen from her._ He covered the mark with his hand so he didn’t have to see it, swallowing its light with his skin. Her breathing changed and he realized she’d woken.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, willing her not to ask him what he’d been doing.  
“No.” She shook her head. “Are you?”  
“None at all.”  
“That’s good,” she mumbled, her eyes closing again. “He said he went to the Golden City.” She frowned. “He said it was empty. We’re abandoned, Solas.”  
He bent closer to hear her as she trailed off. “Are you awake, lethallan?” he asked softly. She didn’t answer and he released her hand carefully down onto the blanket. He sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, falling into a deep doze until Mother Giselle persuaded him to go to his own bed some time later.

  
He woke to Dorian shaking him. “You hear that?” Dorian asked. “That doesn’t sound friendly.”  
He was right, there was a clamor outside the tent. Solas reached for his staff as Varric ducked in. “Oh good, you’re up. The humans are getting weird again, Chuckles.” He glanced at Dorian. “No offense meant.”  
Dorian shook his head and waved it off.  
“They saw the Herald and things got— funny. I think she’s looking for you.”

Solas sprang up and followed them out of the tent, just in time to see hundreds of people kneeling in front of Lavellan. He drifted over to where Iron Bull and Vivienne were watching.  
“She looks petrified,” Dorian muttered.  
“I would be worried if she was not,” said Cassandra as she joined them.  
“Nonsense,” scoffed Vivienne, “She’s simply overwhelmed. Anyone would be. Thus far, she’s handled _almost_ everything with more grace than I expected. I'll admit, I underestimated her.”  
“We _all_ did,” said Solas with a faint smile.  
“She’s done something worthy of awe and loyalty. That’s what the Inquisition wanted her to do, is it not?” asked Vivienne.  
“Yes, well, we hardly expected her to rise from the dead. I regret that she’s had to shoulder so much already.” Cassandra crossed her arms, expecting them to attack her. But Vivienne just watched the Herald.

“She has _real_ power now. She just needs someone to show her how to put it to good use.”  
He was still watching Lavellan, but he felt their eyes on him anyway and glanced over. They were all looking at him. “Me?”  
Varric laughed, which made him scowl. “If I were her, I’d cast it aside if I could. Disappear. The more attention she garners, the deadlier her future becomes,” he muttered.  
“Yes, well, thankfully you _aren’t_ her,” hummed Vivienne. “If _you_ won’t do it, _I_ will. It’s her chance to change things. I thought that’s what you wanted, Solas. Better lives for mages, for elves. An end to slavery. A word from her—”  
That made him furious. “A _word_ from anyone has never changed anything, Vivienne. Look how hard she worked to give the mages a chance at freedom. She closed the Breach with their help and not half an hour later you and Cullen were planning to lock them in the nearest tower! Things don’t change. They just get worse. And anyone who tries just gets killed in the process. The Herald included. I will not lead her down that path. Tell them Varric, that’s why Hawke disappeared isn’t it? The Champion of Kirkwall knew. Sometimes you just have to let it burn and start over.”“And _there’s_ the Solas we all know and love,” sighed Varric. “All that optimism yesterday, thought you banged your head. Welcome back, Chuckles.”  
Solas regretted saying it. He’d let his temper get the better of him. It was perilous to let it overcome him.

Iron Bull cleared his throat. “She can’t disappear, Solas. Not now,” he rumbled. “And Vivienne was right. If _you_ don’t advise her, someone else will. That much power is tempting. I’d rather one of us does it than leave it to chance or a pretty face—”  
Solas snapped around to glare at him and Iron Bull threw up his hands. “I’m just saying—”  
“I _know_ what you’re saying. But she’s her own person. She doesn’t need me to lead her around.” _That’s rich,_ he thought, _Considering what you thought of her just a few weeks ago._  
“She needs a _friend_ ,” said Dorian, twisting the rings on his hand. Solas was somewhat mollified.  
“ _That_ she has.”  
“Then maybe you should let her know.” He twitched his head toward the Herald. She was still standing in front of the tent as if glued there, obviously uncertain of what to do.

Solas made his way quickly to her side. He was still angry, and what he said was so curt, so much _less_ than he wanted it to be. He asked her for a word as if she were the Mouseling still, as if she were anyone else. And then he walked so rapidly that he made her run to catch up. She coughed, her breath still pinched, his healing spell still doing it’s work within her. Everything was wrong.

“Forgive me,” he said, spinning around to her. They’d gone beyond the campfires, beyond even the boundary torches and she was a solid shadow in the dark.  
“Don’t apologize,” she wheezed, “I’m thankful for the escape.”  
A pale blue flame swirled in his hand. “You are uncomfortable?” he could see that she was. He wanted to know if she’d claim it or shut it away.  
“Uneasy. History is not kind to those who stand out. Especially elves.” She reached out and touched the veilfire with her fingertips, curious to see if it burned.  
“Perhaps you will be different.”  
She laughed, coughing and rasping as the breath struggled out of her. Solas hurled the veilfire at an unlit torch and attempted another healing spell, but she waved him away and gradually recovered. “Yes, I will be different. I’ll be the only one that died more than once,” she was still laughing. He frowned.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Perhaps ever.”  
“All the farther to fall, Solas.” She moved closer to the torch watching his expression. “Don’t fret. I wasn’t teasing.”  
“I know,” he said, his face still grim.  
“As you said, ‘We are forewarned.’ I will do the best I can for as long as I can.”  
“Yet you still expect to fail.”  
“Not fail. End, maybe. Decline. Be eclipsed. Everything is, eventually.” She smiled and he shuddered.

This was an impassable chasm between them. Between him and everyone else. He had told Vivienne things didn’t change, but they _did_. He just expected them to _stay_ changed. The Herald accepted that her influence would wane, things would change again after she was gone. Not always for the better. She relinquished control over what came after. He couldn’t do that. Part of him longed to see things their way. It seemed liberating. Instead, he saw the world suffering from unending conflict. The turn of power caused war and poverty and injustice. If they weren’t mortal—

“And if there were a way to go back to your old life? To fade away and be forgotten?”  
It was her turn to frown. “You mean, give the mark to someone else? Let Corypheus hunt another? That would be cruel. I have to believe there was a reason that it is me that bears the mark.”  
“Why?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “You think some distant god placed you in that room with Corypheus? That it was some divine will that you grabbed the orb?”  
She shrank back, her face falling into shadow. “What choice do I have? You think it was random? That I just stumbled into all this?”  
He didn’t answer, turning to stare into the dark.

“That’s _madness_. I can’t accept that. It would mean everything— my life, my choices since the Conclave, the injuries we both— we all suffered, were utterly meaningless.”  
She waited for a response but he had none. He’d already said far too much. She was shocked, but at least she hadn’t noticed his slip about her catching the orb. She circled around him, anxious to see his face.

The veilfire made her vallaslin deep shadows even as her eyes glowed in the cool light.  
“I know I’m just a figurine to _them_ , an interchangeable statue that could have any face— and will, a year or two after I’m not there to contradict it. But is that what I am to you? An unlucky, faceless mage? Any of a thousand similar?” She had stepped in to see his reaction in the darkness. They were a hands breadth apart. He ached to touch her face, to take it all back, every word. To start over, from the very beginning, without the silly prejudices he kept falling into. His hand moved before he could restrain it, but he stopped and grabbed her marked hand instead.

  
“ _This_ may have been luck. It was no god.” A bitter laugh flung out of him. He was certain of _that_ at least. She tried to take a small step back but he matched her, stepping in again. “Let me finish,” he said, but lowered his voice, made it a plea instead of a command. “The mark may have been luck, but what you’ve done with it— _that_ has meaning. And great value. You do not need to give anyone credit except yourself. We have, indeed, been _very_ fortunate that it was you who answered Justinia’s cry for help.” He stared at her and this time he didn’t stop his other hand from reaching for her face. He brushed her cheek, then held her chin in his fingers. “And no one could replace you. You are— unique in all the world.”

She took a sharp breath in and he released her, suddenly ashamed. Why couldn’t he stop showing her so much? If she’d asked, he’d have told her everything, right there. And he knew she was about to ask.  
“Do you remember what you said to me this morning when I woke you?” he asked quickly, to fill the silence so that she couldn’t.  
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember waking up after we spoke.”  
“You said Corypheus went to the Golden City and found it abandoned. I wasn’t certain if it was just the memory of a bad dream, or something else.”  
The Herald shivered. “It was not a dream. He said it was empty and that he would make himself the new god. It’s what he meant to do with the mark.”

  
_So it was true._ Corypheus had been in the city. _His_ city. The blight had entered his sanctuary as Solas slept. There had been no one left to stop him.  
“What is it? If you don’t believe in the gods, why should that bother you?”  
“Anyone trying to claim the power of a god bothers me,” he said, “but that isn’t all. The orb he was carrying— it’s Elven.”  
“Are you certain?” she blurted out and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, of course you are. What is it?”  
“An ancient focus, meant to channel great power.”  
“How did it come to Corypheus?”  
“I do not know. But it is not the first time Tevinter has taken something precious.” The lie slipped so easily between his teeth, but it left a spreading stain of regret in him. “Nor how he survived the explosion. But we must find it— and be ready for the reaction when the humans find out where it came from.”

  
She crouched down in the snow, almost collapsed, as if her legs had given out. “It will mean war. They’ll hunt us down, every one of us.”  
“If we show them we’re allies—”  
She shook her head and he crouched beside her. “Nothing short of saving the world and getting the orb back will be enough to outweigh this.”  
“Then it is fortunate that you have had practice.” His smile drew a faint answering one from her.  
“We have no time. Any moment Corypheus could try again—”  
“He isn’t able to try again,” Solas interrupted her.  
“What’s stopping him?”

He picked up her hand again, happy to have a chance to touch her. “This,” he said, running a finger down the length of the mark. “That’s why he’s so enraged. It wasn’t that you stole the mages, it’s that you have the anchor. But—”  
“But?” she prompted trying to catch his gaze.  
“But it means he’ll keep searching for you until he finds you.”  
“So anyone that is with me will be in danger. I have to go away—” She started to pull away, as if she was ready to leave immediately.  
“ _No_ ,” he tightened his grip slightly, pulling her back. “That would be unwise, lethallan. I know you are formidable, but even _you_ need allies.”  
“I cannot protect them—”  
“We will protect each other. We must anticipate another attack. You cannot depend on luck and a loaded trebuchet to be nearby next time. If you are alone it may be easier to evade Corypheus, but when he _does_ find you, all will be lost. He _will_ find you, Herald. He has already gathered many subjects and there will be more. He has no scruples. He will not hesitate to harm your clan or your friends to draw you out. They are in danger whether you are among them or not.”

“Then what should I do?” she cried, “I cannot gather an army in a frozen mountain pass. These people will starve or die of exposure. And we can’t return to the lowlands unseen, not with this many refugees.”  
“You had a good plan for the mages. We should follow it now, all of us.”  
“But the places I know of are all distant, tucked away in the Free Marches. Perhaps other clans know of others, but even attempting to approach them with this many Shemlen in tow—”  
“I know a place. A fortress, hidden away and forgotten for centuries. It is not close, but the path is secret. With so many, it will be a few days’ travel, but we will reach it long before we run out of even our limited supplies.”

She looked doubtful. “Is it— forgive me, Solas, but you seem to favor ruins. Is it habitable?”  
He laughed. “It will need repair, certainly, but there are no bears or giant spiders in residence, and it is dry and secure.”  
She squeezed the hand that was still wrapped around hers. “Will you take us there?”  
He shook his head. “I will help, but you must lead them. I know the attention and awe is uncomfortable, Herald, but these people must have faith in you. If we want them to stand against a man who wants to be a god, we must give them someone who is already divine. A warrior saint. They have to believe you are stronger than Corypheus. Your survival after Haven has gone a long way toward convincing them, but if you are truly committed to seeing this through—” he paused, making it a question.  
“I am,” she said firmly.  
“Then you must continue to lead them. In this and in all else. And— and you must appear to be comfortable with leading, lethallan, even when you are not.”

He _hated_ asking her to lie. He _hated_ further obscuring that openness that he was already coming to adore. She was already so restrained and he was asking her to close herself off even more. And he hated himself for drawing her into his own lies, for frightening her into keeping what ought to be _his_ secret, for hiding what little truth she knew about the orb. He wanted her to argue. He wanted her to snap at him so he wouldn’t feel so _shamed_ for his own foul mood.

  
Instead, she took a deep breath. “I understand,” was all she said.


	13. Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvkBSX5lm_k

Several refugees had succumbed to their wounds in the night. They’d been too far gone for Adan or any of the healers to do more than ease their last hours. It hadn’t been a surprise, but it still spurred the Herald to hasten preparations for the trip to Skyhold. There was not much to pack. The flight from Haven had been too desperate for much to be carried with them. But there were still those who could not handle hiking through several miles of hard terrain, and she saw to plans for them personally. Cullen’s soldiers had helped dig graves in the frozen ground and a small service had taken place that morning. Now Solas and the other mages were slowly erasing any evidence of their camp and passage through the mountains. He was concentrating a small burst of snow over the dark dirt where the healing tent had been when she found him.

“Are we ready?” he asked over his shoulder, filling in the tangled slush of footprints in front of him.  
“Almost,” she said.  
“Good, I will join you when you are ready to give the word.”  
She smiled. “That depends upon you.”  
“Hmm?”

She glanced around, frustrated by the line of mages around them. She stood on her toes and leaned in, her hand shielding his ear. “I don’t know where we’re going,” she whispered.  
It ought to have been mortifying. They’d spent so long working out the details and he’d forgotten to tell her the way. Instead, he was delighted at the chance to whisper into her ear in return. _Ridiculous_ , he told himself. Even so, he didn’t smother his smile, nor tell her anything farther than that night’s camp.

It was not a liberty he would have taken, had she not initiated. And if she did not whisper the question to him again the next morning, he wouldn’t take it again— but _hoped_ she would. She’d tilted her ear toward him as he’d leaned down, an expectant smile spreading over her face. He’d wanted to pour everything, every secret he knew, every story of the Fade, every memory of Arlathan into her ear, just to make it last a little longer.

“Walk west until you reach the statue of Fen’Harel, the path begins at its flank,” was all he said instead.  
She motioned for him to turn his head. Her lips brushed against his cheek. _Was it a kiss?_ He almost missed her words in his confusion. “What if we get off track or I take a wrong turn?” she hesitated for a breath and then pulled away. She was as red as his own face felt. He was too flustered to risk another whisper, so he straightened and simply kept his voice low.

“I will help the healers with the people in the wagons, and then I will catch up to you. We will walk together. To prevent any unnecessary wandering.” He shouldn’t have added the last part. _Idiot_ , he told himself.  
She nodded but Iron Bull called her away before he could further embarrass himself. _You’re being predatory_ , he told himself as he stared at her across the camp. _Stop. You’ll make her uncomfortable. She doesn’t think of you that way. It’s impossible._

“You keep thinking that,” said Cole, appearing beside him. Solas startled. “Why is it impossible? She doesn’t think you’re scary.” Cole tilted his head. “Maybe she should. But she doesn’t. She’s glad you will walk beside her today.”  
“She’s afraid she’ll get lost.”  
“No,” said Cole, “She knows what that statue looks like. She knew she wouldn’t get lost before she asked for your help. She’s glad anyway.”  
Solas frowned. “That troubles you more than believing it’s impossible,” said Cole. “Why?”  
“Because if it’s impossible, then she cannot be harmed.”  
“You think denying your feelings would make her not love you?”  
“After,” Solas said, in an attempt to get Cole to stop without hurting him.  
“But you like _her_ even while you tell yourself it’s impossible for her to feel the same. It does not make you feel differently—”  
“We’ll talk about— about romance another time, Cole,” he said, “It’s time for us to leave.”The boy nodded and sprinted away, eager to help with the wagons, but the damage was already done. Cole seemed to think she had feelings for him, and the spirit would know. _It HAD been a kiss._

Varric walked up to him and tossed him an apple. “Careful,” he said, “she’s going to ruin your grave and solemn reputation if she keeps making you smile like that.”  
He didn’t even bother to hide it. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Master Tethras,” he said, pretending to examine the apple.  
“Oh?” said Varric with a smirk, “That was you being subtle? You need practice my friend. I may not know what you said to each other, but the whole camp knows you said _something_.”  
“It was a simple exchange of information. It’s none of the camp’s business what we said.”  
Varric rolled his eyes. “When did _that_ ever stop people from talking about something? I’m just saying, if you are trying to be discreet, you’re failing miserably. And this isn’t the first time.”  
Solas shrugged and bit his apple.

“You want me to do some damage control? I could go ‘exchange some information’ with the Herald if you want.”  
Solas glared at him and choked on the piece of apple and Varric laughed. “I’m just offering. I could exchange some information with you instead, if you like that better.”  
“I think you should keep your information to yourself, Varric,” he said, the smile returning to his face.  
“All right, have it your way, Chuckles,” he said as he walked away to join Iron Bull in the column.

The refugees were in worse shape than they’d realized. Though the Herald set an easy pace, they still had to find space for several more who found themselves worn out or in too much pain after a few hours. There were no horses or cattle to be had, all of them pulling some sort of cart or hastily made sled full of people. Blankets and extra clothing were scarce and he’d been at the rear of the column trying to warm the wagons of wounded when he heard the people ahead cry out. Several retreated toward him, _past_ him before he realized that there was a battle ahead. He was trying to gather them in one spot when Sera raced past him. She’d been in the rear guard with Blackwall.

“Sera!” he called.  
She scowled at him and kept going. “Sera! The Herald is without her staff.”  
She spun around. “So? She’s got her glowy bit, right?”  
He sighed. “Just bring her mine.”  
“Ew, no. Not touching that rubbish. _You_ bring it.”  
“Someone’s got to stay and shield—” he stopped because she’d already run off.

Blackwall trundled by just as Solas began casting a large barrier spell. He shouted to the warden, throwing the heavy weapon to him and completing the spell with the other. “The Herald needs it!” Blackwall just caught it and nodded as the shimmering barrier snapped up between them. He tried to concentrate on maintaining the cast, even as the people behind him murmured and cried. He could see the sudden flare of multicolored lights as the mages hurled spells over the crest of the hill.

A burning demon sizzled over the snow and the people behind him screamed as it threw itself against the barrier. It looked as if things were going badly. There was no help for it, he was stuck until the all clear was sounded. He clenched his teeth and refocused.

  
The demon sputtered out as a flash of metal burst through its chest. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t a good one,” said Cole, appearing in the cinders. He put his hand on the barrier. “It’s okay. She’s closing the rift now. She was glad for your staff. I’ll be back.”

Solas nodded and the boy melted into the tree line, headed back toward the battle. His hands ached with the force of maintaining the barrier for so long without the aid of his staff and sweat was beginning to bead on his face. A flash of gold-green light spread over the horizon and the ground shuddered as the rift sealed. A moment later the sweet sound of a horn echoed off the rocks around them, signaling the all clear. He let the barrier sink expecting wounded.

But the only person headed in his direction was the Herald. She held his staff up, careful not to let it drag in the snow. Everyone else streamed up the hill, splitting around her, giving her wide berth. She ignored it.  
“Thank you for this,” she said, holding his staff out to him. “I didn’t realize how much of a crutch mine was until now.”  
“I’m sorry I was not close enough to assist more.” He put his hand on the weapon and then changed his mind. “Perhaps you should keep it, until we find you another.”  
She shook her head, releasing the staff into his hand. “Don’t apologize. You were needed here. And I need practice casting without a focus.”  
“As do I. Perhaps we can help each other?”  
She laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

He tapped his chin with his fingers, pretending to deliberate. “A friendly competition, perhaps?”  
Blackwall passed them, headed back to the rearguard. “Don’t do it, Herald,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “Sneaky elf already won a month’s wages from me at Wicked Grace.”  
“Really?” she asked him.  
“Really. He’s got a terrible face for cards.”  
She folded her arms and began walking back toward the front. He trailed a step or two behind her. “You’d think his beard would cover most of his expressions. I don’t get wages, Solas. We’d have to bet something else.”  
“I did say a ‘friendly’ competition, Herald.”

  
She waited for a moment, as if considering her next words. “How ‘friendly’ are we talking about?” she asked, a sly glint in her eye. She was testing their limits. It was a challenge.  
He tried to keep his face neutral, but he knew his own eyes were betraying him. “So ready to accept defeat, lethallan? Perhaps I ought to claim my winnings now and forget the competition.”  
“You haven’t named the stakes or the rules!” she protested.

They had almost reached the front of the column. “The rules are that we agree on a target— nothing living, and try to hit it. A hit is a point. Whoever has the most points, wins. The targets must be the same size or smaller than the previous one.”  
“And the stakes?”  
He raised an eyebrow and tried not to grin. “I named the rules, you must name the stakes.”  
“What are you willing to give me if I win?”  
He shook his head. “It is for you to name.”  
“Anything?”  
“I am at your command.”“Knickers, Herald! Make him bet his knickers!” shouted Sera from just behind, shattering the moment.  
“Psst,” hissed Dorian loudly, “Men don’t call them ‘knickers.’”  
“Oh? What do they call ‘em?”

  
But the Herald sped up and their voices dropped away. They were both blushing and he looked quickly away to recover. It was a few moments before the Herald spoke again, making certain they were still in sight of the column but just out of earshot.  
“A good dream,” she said suddenly.  
“What?”  
“If I win, you have to give me a good dream.”  
“About what?” he was suspicious.  
“What ever you like. A nice memory, an imagined day, whatever you want to share with me.”  
He was pleased. It would be an easy price to pay. “Very well.” He pointed to a large boulder. “How is that to start?”  
“But you haven’t named your stakes!”  
“If I win, I will claim the same prize.”  
“Solas, I cannot manipulate the Fade— how could I give you a good dream?”  
“I suppose you’ll have to find another way,” he said, lobbing a fireball at the boulder. It splashed against the rock and left a dusty ash mark.  
“Oh!” she said, startled by the idea.

“Your turn.”  
“Right.” A buzzing arc of lightning left her fingers and went wide, melting the snow.  
He tutted as if she’d disappointed him.  
“I wasn’t ready! I was— never mind,” she protested.  
He laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ve still got five miles for you to make up the point.”  
“No, no, I call that one a draw.”  
“A draw? You weren’t even close!”  
“True,” she admitted, “but you were still holding your staff.”  
“This? I have bad hips, lethallan.”  
She pulled the staff from his grip and secured it in the strap of his pack. “So _cruel_ ,” he teased.  
She circled his back with her arm with a chuckle. “You may lean on me in your old age, but no staff. That’s cheating.”

It was good to laugh with her. It was good to be touched by her. That voice, the warning, sad voice that seemed to rule his internal self, was silent. Cole had defeated it, if only for the day. For a few miles the rifts, the orb, the sleeping Evanuris all faded away as they took turns throwing blue and gold sparks at smaller and smaller stones. If he’d known what that practice would mean to her just a few years later, he might have been more serious about it. As it was, it became one of their favorite games.

The sky was flushed silver and pink as they crested the last hill, the column of people just behind, when the Herald caught sight of the statue.  
“Oh,” she said, her laugh fading.  
“What? Is it the statue? I know Fen’harel is not a favorite of the Dalish—”  
“No,” she said, “It’s not _him_.” He noticed she avoided saying the name. “It’s that we’re here— this is the camp.”  
“Aren’t you tired, Herald? I thought you’d be glad of the rest.”  
“I am, they all will be.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
She blushed. “I’m still two points behind, lethallin.”  
“Oh,” he said, trying to frown. “That _is_ a problem. Well. We didn’t establish how long the competition would last, you know. Perhaps we should carry over the game to tomorrow?”

They were still playing when she caught her first glimpse of Skyhold. He had waited for it, known exactly when she’d see it. There was a small cairn at the top of a hill, just a small tower of stones that marked the edge of the path. A fist sized rock was at its peak.  
“That one,” he said, pointing.  
“But that one is bigger than the last,” she protested.  
“Is it? Are you certain? Let’s try anyway, since nothing smaller offers itself.”

His fingers spat a thin stream of flame and glanced off the edge of the rock. She smirked as if she already had him beat and zapped the stone in the center.  
“Oooh, that was very close, lethallan, I’m not sure—”  
“What? You barely scraped the edge!”  
“My eyes are not what they used to be, perhaps we should look closer and see what marks are there.”  
“I see, bad eyes now, to go along with your bad hips?”  
“Just so.”  
She squinted at him but then walked up to the cairn.

She picked up the stone and he saw her stop, her hand halfway lifted, her lips already open to tease him. She placed the rock gently down again without looking at it, turning to face the fortress below them. He joined her on the ridge.  
“Something interesting, Herald?”  
“Oh, Solas— is it really ours?”  
He smiled, pleased at her reaction. “It’s always been ours. The Shemlen built this fortress over a sacred site. It has protected many, many peoples, but it was Elven first.”  
“I’m sorry that I called it a ruin— it’s perfect. We could fit hundreds in there.”  
“It is still in need of repair,” he admitted, “but you have Haven’s finest craftsmen with you.” He pointed to the long bridge. “That is the only entrance. The site stands on a the plateau of a tall cliff. We will at least be safe from a ground assault. This is one of only a handful of paths that even lead to the bridge, but we still must take care not to be seen. Too much activity on one road will give us away.”

She shook her head. “I don’t intend for us to be secret. We cannot be.” She glanced back to be sure the column hadn’t caught up. “If we want to prove that we are allies, we must open our doors to anyone fleeing Corypheus. We cannot hide, we must be a sanctuary.”  
He considered for a moment. “It is risky, especially until we gather more forces, but Skyhold has been successfully held with smaller armies. You are right, Herald, that is the wiser course. But your advisers will try to talk you out of it.”

She sighed, suddenly weighted down by reality again. He felt it too, drawing himself slightly back from her, his own plans suddenly more real now that the fortress was in sight.  
Varric and Iron Bull crested the hill. Iron Bull let out a low whistle as he caught sight of Skyhold. “That’s not shabby, Boss. Not shabby at all,” he said standing next to the Herald.  
“How’d you find this place?” asked Varric. Solas willed her not to look at him.  
“Ancient Dalish site,” she said smoothly and he breathed a little easier.  
Varric nodded. He noticed Lavellan’s hand, still gripping the rock where it lay. “So,” he said lightly, pointing to it, “who won?”  
Solas grinned and the tension evaporated.  
“Told you,” said the dwarf to Iron Bull, “Pay up.”  
Iron Bull groaned and slapped a few coins into Varric’s hand. “This place have a tavern, Boss?”  
She laughed. “If it doesn’t, I’m certain we can remedy that.”  
“Race you,” said the qunari, heading down the hill, Varric trailing him and jingling coins.

“So this is the end of our competition, then?” she asked.  
“Well, this round. I suppose we could always go double or nothing?”  
She shook her head. “I always pay my debts. Besides, I don’t dare get in as deep as Blackwall.”  
“Hmm, then I shall expect prompt payment, Herald. No ducking behind the title.”  
The others were coming, he could hear them. She grabbed his hand. “Thank you Solas, for this. For the secret of this place. For these few days. They’ve been— enjoyable when they ought to be frightening or hard.”  
Dorian and Vivienne rounded the top of the hill, bickering about the appropriate placement of frost mines. She let his hand go and hurried away. He stood and watched her as the Inquisition flowed past him and into his stronghold.


	14. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9cGBsTcA-5o

The throne room had been cleared of rubble and the large fireplace blasted heat across the stone, but it was still uncomfortable. It was the only space that was both accessible and still had a solid roof, so for the first week, the Inquisition huddled together to sleep. Solas was unused to the crowd of bodies around him. He remembered the years the fortress had stood silent and cold.

He shifted, turning his face toward the stone wall, trying to shut out the discomfort. But he could still hear them, the muted roar of breath, like an ocean wave. It should have soothed him, put him into a deep sleep, but it seemed only to cause his irritation to build. Someone behind him rolled and an arm flopped against his back. He sighed and sat up. If he couldn’t sleep, he may as well work.

At least the library was decent, added to over millennia. He had placed the wards against decay with his own hands. Even the most ancient of scrolls sat preserved. It was these he’d most wanted to study. There had to be a way to bypass the orb. He just had to find it.

He picked his way through the mass of sleeping soldiers and mages to reach the door, careful not to place a foot down on a stray hand or leg. He opened the door just a crack and somebody groaned at the sudden chill. Sliding his body through, he quickly closed it again and let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

“Hello?” the voice echoed softly off of the round walls. Solas squinted, his eyes still adjusting to the dimness as a small bundle in the center of the floor sat up. “Solas, is that you?”  
He took a few steps into the room and flicked a spark at a nearby torch. “Inquisitor? What are you doing out here? Are you in distress?”  
She was sitting on a dusty horseblanket in the center of the floor. “No,” she yawned. “I just needed— space.”  
“I couldn’t take it either,” he admitted. “But why are you down here on the floor? The library is probably much warmer.”  
Her yawn turned into a lazy half smile and she pointed up. “There’s a hole in the roof. I was watching the stars.”  
“I apologize for the torch then,” he said, putting it out with a swift pinch of his fingers. He walked over to her and craned his neck, trying to see the hole she meant. “I’m surprised you can see any stars at all. It isn’t a very good skylight.”  
She laughed. “Maybe not from there.” She held out a hand toward the empty spot on the blanket, indicating he should join her.

He sat, forgetting that he was trying to _escape_ contact with others. The Inquisitor stretched out, placing her hands behind her head and went back to star watching.  
“Why the stars? We certainly see enough of them on our missions.”  
“But we _didn’t_ , Solas. Didn’t you notice? Before a few days ago, we hadn’t seen them for months. All we could see was the Breach.”  
He lay down beside her, mirroring her. Their elbows brushed as he moved to look up. The ragged hole was a deep shadow framing the blue and silver of the sky. She was right, the Breach had made a sickly green light on the horizon that blocked out the natural darkness of the night sky. “Do the Dalish tell stories of the stars?”

She glanced over at him, suspicious. “Not many. A few. It’s Dorian you want to talk to you if you want to hear star stories. The Imperium has hundreds,” she said when she was satisfied he wasn’t baiting her.  
“That is too bad. A story would be just the thing to give a person good dreams.” He twisted his head to see her expression and she laughed.  
“How can I give you a good dream if you will not sleep, lethallin?”  
“Where shall I sleep? There is not a hand’s breadth between the Shemlen out there. And the fire will roast me alive.”  
“You can— you can stay here. If you like.”

His heart beat was so loud in his own ears that he was certain she must hear it too. “Hmm, I don’t know, the floor is awfully cold and hard…” he said.  
Her hands flickered, light and quick. A soft warmth sank into him as soon as her spell was complete. “You’ve had worse, I’m certain. And a place like this— it must have some beautiful memories to find.” She turned toward him, her face serious. “I envy you. What you see— what you know.”  
“And what is it that I know?” he asked.  
“The truth.”

She turned back toward the stars and it felt as if she tore something in him as she did. Her loneliness was like a distant, piercing echo that had originated in him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that the Fade had many versions of truth and he was no closer to it than she was.  
“Go to sleep, lethallin. Have sweet dreams,” she whispered. A small smile returned to her face, “Even if they aren’t from me— _yet_.”

But he couldn’t let go, not yet. “A story is all it would take,” he wheedled. He wanted her to keep talking, to stretch out the night, to stay.  
“Very well,” she laughed. “But! You must promise not to make fun.”  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She glared skeptically at him but shifted to pull one arm out anyway. He turned on his side to face her. “You see that diamond group there?”  
“Yes,” he lied, staring instead at the ghost of her breath spilling from her lips into the cold air.  
“It is part of the constellation the Tevinter call ‘Silentir.’ They see a dragon in flight.” A dazzling blue thread trailed her finger as she drew the lines between the stars.

“But to us, this is Mythal.” She wiped out the lines and redrew a different configuration, a new image. “It was she who convinced Elgar’nan to release the sun and she who brought mercy to the world. Long ago, the sun kissed the earth and Elgar’nan was born of the kiss. And the earth was pleased with Elgar’nan and bloomed for him, fashioning the birds and beasts to bring him joy. She softened herself with grass to cover the jagged stones and great trees burst forth to bring him cool shade and breezes where he walked. So great was Elgar’nan’s delight, that the sun, himself, grew enraged with jealousy of the earth.

"He blazed with anger and seared her, turning all her beautiful works to cinder and ash. And the earth _hurt_. Her heart cracked at the betrayal and made a great abyss. Her skin split from the heat and as she wept, the splits filled with her tears, making streams and rivers that collected and poured into the abyss. She wept so much, the abyss filled to the brim and became an ocean.

  
“Elgar’nan was furious and fought with his father, the sun. They fought a mighty battle, and at last, Elgar’nan hurled his father into the depths of the ocean abyss. And all was still and dark.” She shifted to her side in order to face him, so wrapped in her story that she forgot the stars. He watched the play of the blood writing as her face changed, smoothed and bunched, mirroring the emotions in the tale.

“But the earth knew she needed the sun,” she continued, lost in a beautiful history that had never happened. “She couldn’t recreate the things that had pleased Elgar’nan without the sun. Nothing could live. She was barren and broken and cold. She pleaded with Elgar’nan to release the sun, but he still seethed with rage and refused, sitting there in the endless night, alone. Everything froze, the rivers and streams, the frost pulling at the earth’s scars, crackling over the surface of even the ocean. Until there was only a small hole left in the ice, directly over where the sun lay hidden.

"At the last moment, when all seemed hopeless and lost, Mythal climbed out of the hole in the ice, out of the deep, deep ocean. And she came to Elgar’nan, finding him where he sat in the frozen dark.  
‘Everything is gone,’ she told him. ‘The earth, your mother, is dying. Is your anger sated? Will you not amend your mistake? Will you not release the sun to shine again?’  
But Elgar’nan was still enraged and he refused. ‘I have made no mistake. The sun committed a terrible crime. The punishment was just. Even if the earth dies, I cannot let the evil go unchecked.’”

Solas felt a pang of guilt, he had thought the same many times since waking, but the Inquisitor had no way to know.  
“Mythal had watched him for a long time from her ocean home. She knew his heart was not evil, not really. She touched his face, just so—” She reached out sliding a soft hand from Solas’s temple to his jaw and he felt his skin prickle and yearn for more. “And she said, ‘Is there nothing at all you would save? Will you be alone in the darkness forever? Sometimes, for the good of all, justice must make way for mercy.’  
“And Elgar’nan was shamed of his own rage. And he relented, raising the sun to heal the earth.” She fell silent, watching him for a reaction.

“And Mythal?” he prompted gently.  
“ _Loved_ him.”  
“He hardly seems worthy of such love.”  
“He raised the sun for the love of her, what more would you have him do?”  
“Not destroy everything in the first place.”

She smiled. “Everyone makes mistakes, Solas, even gods. The point is that he tried to fix it.”  
“That will not undo the sorrow he caused,” he said, frowning.  
“If he undid it, there would be no ocean, no streams or rivers. No Mythal. No story.”  
They were getting too close to things he wanted to avoid. “No story? That would be a tragedy,” he said with a soft laugh.  
“Don’t tease,” she warned.  
“I was in earnest, lethallan. I would not give up listening to your story for anything.”  
She shook her head. “Go to sleep,” she laughed and turned away to curl herself in the edge of the rough blanket. He was left to dream of the _real_ Elgar’nan and his sleep was not pleasant.

A warm hand closed around his shoulder and he woke with a start. The rotunda was stained a pale red-gold and the chill had become a vicious bite. The Inquisitor hovered over him, speaking softly. It took him a few seconds to realize she was speaking to him.  
“—okay. It was just a dream. It’s over.”  
His heart shuddered to a stand-still. _What had he said in his sleep?_ He’d been lazy, irresponsible. He’d taken none of his usual precautions. He sat up. “A bad dream about what?” She shook her head, confused. “A bad dream about what, Inquisitor?”

She shrank back, but he was too uneasy to worry that he’d scared her. “I— I don’t know. How would I know that, Solas? You were groaning— it seemed as if you were in pain.”  
“Of course, I’m sorry.” He sighed and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “It seems not all of the memories in Skyhold are beautiful,” he lied, looking up and offering her an apologetic smile. She pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

“You ought to go back to sleep. I don’t think you got much rest. I think the upper rooms are meant to be cleared this morning. No one will disturb you there.”  
“But we are meant to head out shortly.”  
“I will ask Vivienne to go in your stead.”  
A sharp laugh escaped him. “She’d sooner openly insult the Empress than set foot in a marsh.”  
“Dorian then.”  
“He’ll just complain the entire trip.”  
“We will survive a little whining. You don’t have to drag yourself through every ridiculous errand I decide we have to complete. You are allowed to take a break.”  
“It’s a rescue. That’s not ridiculous. The Veil is very thin in the Mire. I wanted a chance to study it anyway.” He knew he was being stubborn. _Just let her go. Distance is best for you both._ But he couldn’t. _Not yet,_ he thought, though he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

“It’s going to be wet and cold,” she warned him.  
“It’s still wet and cold here.”  
“And filthy.”  
“It’s a marsh, lethallan, I expect mud.”  
“And probably smelly.”  
He laughed. “I rather think _you_ should stay here, not me. You are obviously not looking forward to it. I’m going.”  
“If you are going, then I’m looking forward to it,” she said, the color bursting in her cheeks. She fled before he could respond.


	15. The Fallow Mire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikJQoPXYnLo

It was only when they reached the lowlands that he realized the slow spring had finally unfurled in earnest. It crept across the marsh leaving patches of still, chilled mud at the edges of young reed beds. The snow shrank away and surrendered to a light frost. A thick and reeking fog seemed to perpetually swirl around them, saturating their clothing and skin.

  
Solas slapped at a biting insect as they trudged through the muck. It was difficult to find a dry path and the slow slog through clouds of relentless bugs was making them all irritable. He’d already picked an argument with Iron Bull about the Qun, and though he hadn’t altered his opinion, he felt guilty about goading the mercenary into it. The man could hardly choose where he was born, and his very presence in the Inquisition was a sign of surprising open mindedness.

Cole waved his hat in an effort to shoo the insects away. “Ah! Make these biting things stop! The Iron Bull knows you know how.”  
“He’s right. There is a way to get rid of them, but you aren’t going to like it,” said the Inquisitor without even turning around.  
“Vashedan! It can’t be worse than this,” Iron Bull rumbled, twisting his head as if the horns would drive them away.

“There’s a dry spot ahead, we’ll camp and I’ll get rid of the bugs.” She glanced back at them. “Anyone allergic to rashvine?”  
Cole frowned. “I don’t know.”  
“Relax kid, whatever it causes, it’s got to be a relief after this,” said Iron Bull.  
“It’s not,” said Solas. He didn’t offer details.  
“I’m willing to risk it.” The Qunari scratched at his back with the blunt head of his maul. He roared in frustration as another insect bit his ear.  
“We’ll find out, I guess,” sighed the Inquisitor.

“I don’t think we have a large enough supply to make a plaster,” said Solas with a frown. They pulled themselves out of the sludge onto a dry bank. They were in a small clearing surrounded by the twisted, barren corpses of trees.  
“We only need a handful for this,” she said. “It’s the way we do it in my clan. One of those confused customs you disapprove of.” Her eyes widened as soon as she said it and she saw his face tighten into a cold mask. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “that wasn’t fair. I’m out of patience too.”  
He shook his head as if dismissing the comment, but his expression didn’t change and she could tell he was hurt.

How could he persuade her that he didn’t see her as backward or ignorant? He’d never regretted his open disdain of the Dalish more than he did at that moment. He numbly gathered firewood as the others built a large, domed tent. He hovered between loneliness and anger, both at her and himself, while she built the fire. She poked at the roof, nudging the support poles a little wider. He could see the first stars above them and felt the ghost of her hand on his face again as he watched her sealing the tent flap. His loneliness swallowed the anger whole, defeated it without struggle.

“Here goes,” she said, tossing the handful of rashvine into the flames. The tent filled with acrid smoke. “Breathe shallow,” she said, watching each of them for signs of a reaction.  
Cole coughed and Iron Bull smacked him on the back as if he’d swallowed wrong. Solas felt his eyes stinging and beginning to water. “You sure this is going to work, Boss?” wheezed the Qunari.  
“I’m certain. A few more minutes and you’ll be bug free until you bathe.” She poked the shriveled ashes of the rashvine with a stick and another plume of thick smoke rolled out.  
“I’m never bathing then,” coughed Cole.  
Iron Bull laughed. “I don’t think they’ll let us in the gates at Skyhold if we don’t, kid. Not smelling like this.”

The Inquisitor opened the tent flap and swamp air flooded the structure, pushing the rest of the smoke up and out. Solas had found it fetid before, but it was like a fresh wind from a mountain after the rashvine and he pulled in great, deep breaths. Iron Bull took the chance to escape the tent.  
“Hey Boss,” he called a few minutes later, “this actually works!”  
She laughed at his surprise, but it was cut short.  
“We've got company,” shouted Iron Bull.

It was more undead. They’d been shambling after the party for hours. The Inquisitor groaned. “I thought we lost them in the marsh.”  
“They can see you. You shine so bright, like the winter sun to them. If you wake them, they will follow,” said Cole, as he twisted his daggers into the rotting spine of one, shattering it.  
“But so many?”  
“We disturbed several groups on our journey,” said Solas, freezing a small group. Iron Bull smashed his maul through them.  
Then there were too many to keep talking.

A pile of smashed bone poked out of the dark water when they were done. Cole helped Iron Bull drag the last of the remains out of the camp while the others set wards around the tent.  
“Where do they keep coming from?” asked Lavellan as she sank down onto the grass.  
“Pulling, sucking, freezing. They follow the fires and then fall. They claw to get out, but the marsh never lets them go. It hoards them. Little dolls, wrapping them in golden flowers in the spring, sparkling diamonds in winter,” murmured Cole.  
“But why do _they_ linger? The marsh can only keep their bodies.”  
“They are lost, lethallan. They have nothing to guide them across the Veil. They hover at the edge, waiting for a sign. The mark must be like the dawn to them.” Solas dropped another piece of wood onto the fire.  
“It is not the mark,” said Cole. “It is _her_. Just her.”  
Solas glanced at the Inquisitor, startled and curious.  
“Me? How?” she asked.  
“You’re so bright. They cannot stop themselves. They know you will help. You give them hope.” He pointed to the veilfire torch above them. “If you bring them to the memory of another light, they will stop. Be pulled through. Home.”

She stared at the veilfire. It flickered, cold and translucent. “But where is Falon’Din?” she murmured, half to herself.  
Iron Bull shrugged. “Maybe they aren’t elves.”  
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, frowning.  
“Maybe it matters to _them_. Maybe your Falon’Din showed up, and they didn’t feel like following.”  
Solas was silent, watching the other three. Cole stared at him, but, true to his word, said nothing. The conversation soon shifted and he let it pass.

The light was wrong when he woke. Dew had already gathered around him, dripping through the roof hole. He slipped out of the tent, Cole and Iron Bull still sleeping hard. The sound of rhythmic scraping reached him as soon as he stepped outside. The Inquisitor sat beneath the veilfire torch, her hand grinding the knot of a gnarled branch.

“Why didn’t you wake me, Inquisitor?” he asked, stepping up beside her.  
“I don’t return to sleep easily after third watch,” she said without looking up. “And I gave you nightmares last night. You needed the rest.”  
He sat down beside her. “It was not _you_ that caused my bad dreams,” he sighed. He watched her scrape a small round sandstone along the branch. It was almost smooth, only the subtle bumps of a few burls left. “Is this for a new staff?”  
She nodded and stopped to rub her fingers, resting the branch and stone on her knees. He picked them up.  
“May I?” he asked.  
“Of course.”

He began scraping the uneven spots carefully. “You should return to bed. There are only a few splintery patches left. I will have it finished by the time we leave.”  
“No,” she said, folding her chilled hands into the sleeves of her jacket, “it is almost dawn. I can’t sleep now.”  
“Then perhaps you should finish your story.”  
“What story?”  
“You never told me what happened to Mythal.” He said it casually but his skin prickled with anxiety. This was dangerous ground. _She_ was dangerous ground.

She laughed. “Solas, you may not be Dalish, but even _you_ must have heard the story of Mythal.”  
He stopped scraping and looked at her. “The value of a tale is in the telling, lethallan.”  
“Very well,” she said. “The Dalish believe—” she stopped as he shook his head.  
“I am not interested in what the _Dalish_ believe, I’m interested in what _you_ believe.”

  
She spent a long minute just looking at him. “Please, Solas, I don’t want to argue today. Yesterday was a mistake. Your silence was a dire punishment, more than anything you could say. Let us be friends. Please. Whatever we’ve done to earn your ill opinion— _tell_ me, and I will strive to fix it.” A tear escaped her and she turned away to hide it. He put the stone down beside him and slid a warm hand into her sleeve, catching her cold fingers.  
“Don’t,” he begged. “You misinterpret— I don’t want to argue either. Not with you. I meant that I already know what the Dalish think, not that I think ill of their beliefs. I’m interested in what you think, in the story you tell to yourself.”  
“Why is this so important to you?” she asked, still trying to regain control.  
“Because _you_ are important to me.” He let her go and picked up the stone again, scraping the branch for a moment, giving her a chance to calm down.

  
“I think the beginning of the story is true. I think there really was a great war,” she said at last. “Between the gods. It must have hurt the People. They must have suffered.”  
“Why do you say that?” He peeled a stray bit of bark away.  
“Because it’s always the weakest that suffer the most during wars. The people who are unarmed, trying to live out their lives, feed their families. Raise their children. The combatants are so enraged, they never see or care. Look at the mages and the templars in the Hinterlands. They didn’t care that they destroyed farms or burned homes. They didn’t care that the people there were starving or injured. All they cared about was killing each other. They never would have stopped. Even if we had removed one, the other side would keep using the villagers. Stealing from them or murdering them. I don’t like killing anyone, Solas, but if we hadn’t driven them out—” She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “I think it was the same with the gods. But it would have been worse. So much worse. The story says that Fen’harel tricked the gods. Betrayed them.”

“So he is the villain then?” Solas gripped the stone tightly, bearing down on the branch with such force that it threatened to break.  
“That is not what _I_ think. I think the Dread Wolf saw the People’s suffering. I think he wanted to help them, wanted to stop the war. But the gods wouldn’t listen. They were too full of hate and anger to stop. And so, the only thing he could do was seal them away, separate them forever. I think he did the best that he could.”

“And Mythal was among them? Mythal, who persuaded Elgar’nan to mercy?”  
“No one is purely one way. Mythal advocates mercy, yes, but she also brings the People justice. And vengeance. Just as the Dread Wolf is said to bring betrayal and disaster, but we also keep him near our camps to protect us. I have heard from elves who escaped captivity in Tevinter that the network that aided them does so in _his_ name. But it is only a story now. Mythal and the Dread Wolf have been as silent as the others. Perhaps they are both sealed away. Before Haven, I believed they heard us, that they’d become subtle in their answers, but—”  
“But?”  
“But Corypheus is prepared to storm the Golden City. How would he dare if they were still there?”  
“The Golden City is the Maker’s seat, why do you equate it with elvhen gods?” He inspected the staff, stealing a sidelong glance at her.  
“The Maker is also absent, is he not? Perhaps he is one of ours and the humans just don’t know it yet. Corypheus saw something.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “It frightens me, lethallin.”

He put aside his work and turned to face her. “Would it be so bad if they really _are_ gone? If we are in charge of our own lives?”  
“It would be lonely,” she said softly, but it felt as if she’d stabbed him and twisted the blade until it snapped. She ran a finger across the smoothed branch. “Thank you,” she said, “I will find a focus for it when we return to Skyhold.”

They sat quietly for a while, as the sun rose over the Fallow Mire. The light caught and refracted off the dewy grass and sparked off the masses of floating insects, turning them to clouds of fluttering gold.  
“Will you tell me the real story someday?” she asked after a while.  
“What makes you think I know the real story?” He forced a laugh.  
“Please?” her gaze was steady and serious.  
“Someday,” he answered, “But now it is time to wake the others.” He hoped that she was patient.


	16. Somniar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gm5J-MQ4xh8

Three days later, they arrived back at Skyhold, a small squad of soldiers in tow. Almost all were still healing from various injuries, but they were a welcome addition after the losses at Haven. They said goodnight to Iron Bull and Cole at the tavern and continued to the Keep. It was late and they were both footsore and exhausted. He was still recovering from a broken arm he’d received in the battle with the Avvar, and it pulsed and ached on top of everything. It was a pleasant surprise to be informed that the apartments had been cleaned and repaired.

The Inquisitor tried to protest that the tower was too grand for her. Josephine just gave Solas a significant look.  
He leaned in and whispered, “Lethallan, remember what we discussed. They must believe in you. That means all the trappings too.”  
She nodded, too tired to really argue long.  
“I’ll make sure none of the Fallow Mire party is disturbed tomorrow,” offered Josephine.  
“Thank you,” the Inquisitor sighed with relief. The ambassador curtsied and left them standing in the empty throne room.

“I’d rather lie on the dusty floor and tell star stories,” Lavellan said, turning toward him. “But I guess that’s over now.”  
“We can watch the stars in camp, lethallan. And I don’t think the occasional secret stargazing session in the rotunda will hurt anyone. I will tell them to leave the roof as it is. I gather you have a fine balcony in the tower to watch them from now.”  
She smiled. “We will have to meet there next time then.”  
“I look forward to it,” he laughed.  
“Goodnight Solas,” she said heading for the stairs.  
“And you, Inquisitor,” he said, before heading for his own room.

It was easy to slip into the Fade when he was in Skyhold. Especially that night. He barely made it through bathing, falling into the bed just seconds after finishing. It was natural that he should find himself in the rotunda. He could not shake the memory of her palm on his face. He was staring up at the ragged hole in the roof when the Inquisitor arrived. He thought she was an illusion at first, a wish he was granting himself without meaning to. But then he felt that _pull_ again, as if she was reaching out to be certain _he_ was real. She’d wandered into his dream. He was shocked. It had _never_ happened before. Not in centuries of Fade walking. He assumed it was accidental, some unconscious trick of the mark. He waited to see what she’d say, wondering if she even realized what she’d done.

“Do you need assistance, Inquisitor?” he asked her.  
“I was wondering if you’d tell me more about your studies.”  
He was certain she believed she was awake, that she’d had no intention of entering his dream, only of finding him. It must have been their conversation about Mythal. She must have been more troubled by it than he had thought. _She will not remember this when she wakes,_ he thought, and the idea was liberating. What harm was there in indulging her?

“You continue to surprise me,” he told her. “Come with me, lethallan, there is something I wish to show you.” He held out his hand and she willingly took it. He led her to the doorway, shifting the Fade around them. When they stepped through they were in Haven.  
If he’d had any doubts about whether she realized that she was dreaming, they would have been erased in that instant. She was unfazed by the sudden change in location, asking only, “Why here?”  
“Haven will always be important to you. It is what began all of this.”  
“Is it important to you?”  
“Yes,” he said, for once not second guessing his words. “It is where I first saw you.”

  
He led her into the Chantry dungeon. “They brought you here after the first day, after Adan had tried and failed to heal you. I stayed with you, waiting for you to wake, studying the anchor.”  
“Varric said you stopped it from killing me.”  
_If only I could,_ he thought. He just bowed his head in acknowledgment. _Am I never to escape the endless lies? Even here?_  
“Thank you Solas. I’m glad it was you who looked after me.”  
She said it with such feeling that he hesitated, momentarily unsure if he’d misjudged her awareness.

“I regret that I could not free you from this place,” he said at last. “But you were a mystery then. You still are. I wanted to aid you, to aid Cassandra as well. The Breach was threatening both this world and the Fade. I knew you held the answer to— to _everything_. But you would not wake up, and I could find nothing that would help, though I did not stop searching.”  
She clasped his hand tighter in her own.

  
“I tried anything I could think of. Every spell, theoretical magic and ancient lore. It all failed and the rifts got worse. Hundreds of spirits pulled through, twisted and angry. People were frightened, fleeing. I was ready to join them. But then—” He raised her hand and felt again the energy of her own magic flowing back into him as she sealed the first rift. She sucked in a surprised breath at the intensity of the memory. He hesitated. Would she be angry? Disgusted? Frightened? Would she respond at all?

  
_She is not cruel. Not even here,_ he told himself. _This may be my only chance._

“You change— everything,” he said.  
He’d expected rejection or indifference. Prepared for it. Told himself she’d have no polite mask to cover her reactions. Not in dreams. But her kiss shocked him. He was uncertain what to do. He was frozen, unresponsive. _Frightened._ And she’d backed away in horror.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “This was meant to be _your_ good dream, not mine.”

It was then he realized she’d known what was happening the entire time. _Too late now,_ he told himself. He would have done anything to stop the shame in her face. So he did what he’d been longing to do for weeks. He kissed her back. But it was lacking. It missed the weight and the warmth of the real thing. For the first time in centuries, the Fade wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, not after _her_. Like the shadow of a kiss, the _hope_ of one. He ached for more.

“I’ll happily share this dream with you,” he said when they parted, his lips brushing the side of her cheek, “and it is most definitely a _good_ one.” He sighed,gently pulling away. “But this isn’t right. Not even here. Especially here.”

“Then,” she said, stepping back in toward him and placing her palm on his chest, “if you will not give me this in dreams, will you accept in the waking world?” She said it calmly, but he could feel the hope and terror twisting and turning, pluming from her in great billows as if they were smoke or heat. He couldn’t bring himself to crush her, but their emotions were too strong. _It will attract unwanted attention,_ he realized. So he made a desperate play for time.  
“I— am uncertain. It is a matter best discussed after you _wake up._ ” He gave her the gentlest of pushes and she tumbled out of the Fade. He followed her, waking to find his fingertips pressed to his lips and his heart hammering like a frantic beast in a cage too small to hold it.

  
He quickly gave up pacing his cramped quarters, moving instead to the rotunda. He wanted to stay close to the dream, to the memory of all the times she’d touched him, even as he pushed it away.  
He was irritated to hear voices above him. Others had taken up residence in the library and attic while they had been gone. He’d expected to be alone with the silence and the frayed glimpse of blue sky. Yet he didn’t move, preferring to stake a claim in the empty room because she’d been there as _his_ , just for a few hours, her focus on him, alone. He lied to himself, reasoning that it was an ideal location to keep track of Leliana’s numerous agents as they passed to and from the rookery and close to the materials that he needed in the library.

He both longed for the Inquisitor to seek him out and dreaded their conversation at the same time. He tried to expend his nervous energy in work, moving a large desk from the library, refusing Dorian’s aid in carrying it. It wasn’t enough and he returned to pacing. The Tevinter paused on his way down the stairs. “You’re going to wear a hole into the stone, Solas,” he commented. “Why are you so troubled?”  
“It is nothing,” he said, trying not to snarl.  
Dorian finished his descent and walked over to him. “You are practically sizzling. Any mage in the Keep can probably feel it. Even Varric mentioned it at breakfast.”  
“You wouldn’t understand,” he sighed.  
The Tevinter raised an eyebrow at that. “You know, you don’t give people enough credit, Solas.”  
“So I am realizing,” he said dryly.  
“Try me.”  
He opened his mouth, unsure if he were really going to seek advice from Dorian. It was a bit like asking his younger self what he ought to do, likely to result in an enthusiastic but utterly impulsive response.

The Inquisitor stepped quietly into the room before he could. If Solas had been sizzling, she was absolutely ablaze. Dorian could not help but notice. Vivienne had probably even noticed three rooms away.  
“Oh,” said Dorian quietly. “Good afternoon, Inquisitor. I’m uh— late. If you’ll excuse me?”  
The Inquisitor offered him a cordial bow and he made a hasty escape and left them staring at each other in silence.

She was waiting for him to speak of it first, he realized. Which was fair, since it was he that had put off the conversation.  
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, testing the waters. It was no good rushing into this if the dream was hazy or forgotten.  
“How— did that happen?” she asked, equally cautious.  
“I don’t know, it’s never occurred before,” he admitted. “I thought you had found me accidentally. Perhaps it was the mark.”  
She glanced down at the anchor, something in the way she frowned telling him that she doubted it. She rubbed at it absently.

“Does it pain you, lethallan?”  
“Not often. But it is spreading.”  
She had noticed then. He held out a hand. “May I see?”  
She lay her own hand, palm up on his. She was right, it had grown. Visibly this time. He pressed a spell into her skin. Too weak still, he thought. It would slow the creep of it, at least. It would buy him time to save her. He traced the anchor with his thumb, watching her through his lashes.

“I apologize for the kiss,” he said, wanting to head her off before she could bring it up, “It was impulsive. I should not have encouraged it.”  
Her hand slid out of his and he looked up. Her face was stricken, mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I thought you felt the same. I misunderstood, I’ve made a terrible mistake—”  
He reached for her before he even realized what he was doing. “No, _no,_ ” he insisted, brushing her cheek with his fingers, “There was no mistake. But _this_ —” he sighed. “This may not be wise. It could mean trouble.”She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “You are worth trouble. I am willing to risk it if you are,” she said and then shifted, out of easy reach. He dropped his hand.  
“I may be,” he said, unwilling to drive her finally away. Unable, maybe. “If I could take some time to consider—”  
“Of course.” She headed for the door but stopped to turn and face him once more. “We— we are friends still, aren’t we?” she asked.  
“I will never not be your friend, lethallan,” he said. _Even when I can no longer be your ally. Even when you turn away from me,_ he thought.

She smiled and closed the door quietly behind her.

He tumbled a large pile of books from his desk in one angry swipe and then collapsed into the chair, burying his head in his hands.


	17. Brooding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=doIEwzc6k_k

A heavy book slid from his grasp and he woke with a start, expecting a loud thud, half reaching for the falling pages. But he had not dropped it. The Inquisitor was placing it open on his desk. She unraveled the cord that bound her braid and placed it carefully between the pages, marking his spot. The braid loosened and tumbled free, making her look softer, younger than he had seen her.

  
He shifted and she turned. “I’m sorry, Solas. I was trying not to wake you.” Her voice was barely above a murmur and she quickly knelt beside his chair, leveling her face to his. “You’ve been so tired these last days. Are your quarters uncomfortable?”  
He shook his head. “No, Inquisitor, they are adequate.” He had been avoiding sleep since she had kissed him.  
“You have been working too long, lethallin, you should rest.”  
“I cannot,” he sighed, folding his hands together to avoid touching the soft halo of hair around her face.  
“But we are doing everything possible— I am leaving for Crestwood this minute to meet Hawke and the Wardens—”  
He sat up. “We’re meeting the Grey Wardens? There is something I should—”  
“ _I’m_ meeting a Warden, yes. You are going to stay and rest.”  
“Give me a moment, Inquisitor, and I will be ready to depart,” he began to rise from his chair but she put a hand on his chest and pushed him gently, but firmly, back down.“Why will you not rest?”  
“Because he is unsettled by whatever happened between you the other day,” said Dorian as he walked down the steps, outfitted for travel.

  
“You told him about the dream?” Solas asked in disbelief. He’d thought she’d been as discreet as he. Dorian twisted one of the ends of his mustache as Lavellan blushed and covered her face with one hand.  
“A dream was it? No, my friend, the Inquisitor has been most unfair. She refused to share any details. But I knew there was mischief in the making when I left you the other day. You could have roasted a pig with all the heat between you.” He smirked and Solas swallowed a groan.  
“Ir abelas, lethallan,” he said quietly, realizing his mistake.  
Dorian tutted. “Most impolite, switching languages in mixed company.”

Solas glared at the Tevinter, but the Inquisitor touched his knee under the table and his attention shifted. “I promised to wait. I will not push, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”  
“Oh sorora, don’t fret. The somniari isn’t afraid of _you_. He’s afraid of himself. See? I can use pretty words too.” He smiled at Solas who tried not to scowl.

He cleared his throat instead. “Dorian, would you be so kind as to give us a moment?”  
The Tevinter shrugged and then bowed. “Don’t be long Inquisitor,” he called over his shoulder, “We are late. And the longer he has to miss you, the sooner he’ll realize how silly he’s being.”  
She pretended to ignore Dorian’s comment, watching Solas instead. He stood up and held out a hand to help her up. “He’s right,” he admitted. “It is my own actions— and feelings that have kept me from sleep these past days.”  
“It wasn’t my intent to—”  
“It isn’t your fault, lethallan. I will not allow this to disrupt our work, I give you my word.”

She frowned. “I don’t want that promise. We are doing something vital, yes, but our friendship is more important to me than the fancy dinners Josephine makes me attend or the lengthy strategy sessions Cullen and Leliana subject me to every morning. It is _work_ that must make way for— for _this_ , not the other way around. You _must_ rest, not because I need you to slog through Crestwood with me or comb through another Shem book about the orb, but because I need _you_. If I must make it a command, I will, but I hope you’ll yield to your own good sense and _go to sleep_. I will be gone, you’ll have no reason to be uneasy. And when I’ve returned, I hope I will find you well.” She backed away, heading for the door before he could protest.

For the first few hours, he convinced himself that it was a relief that she had gone. Dorian and Varric had gone with the Inquisitor and Leliana’s agents were all in the field. He had no distractions, no interruptions. He began to be anxious around dusk, and told himself that he was simply worn out. He’d retired early and fallen into a safe and very boring version of Skyhold’s library in the Fade.

Cole was sitting on the edge of the footboard watching Solas as he woke. “You pretend to be relieved, but I can hear your hurt.”  
Solas squinted at him. “Cole? What are you doing here?”  
“It’s very loud. You thought it would be quieter when she was gone, but it is not.”  
“I apologize, Cole. I am trying to master it.”  
“I hear her too. She is lonely, but it is fading.”  
“That is good.” He sat up, rubbing the top of his head to clear it. “It was only a passing infatuation.”  
Cole shook his head. “It is _not_. Her affection is not less. But she has something you do not. Why?”  
“What does she have, Cole?”  
“Hope.”

He sighed. “She is young, she doesn’t know that this isn’t possible.”  
“She is not _so_ young, not for one of _them_. Only compared to you. She has old thoughts. Like brittle scrolls that shatter when you open them. Like worn stone that melts in the river. She knows it will not be forever. She knows she is dying, Solas.”  
His chest shuddered as he suppressed a sob. “She doesn’t know it’s my fault,” he said at last.  
“It is not. Corypheus wounded her, not you. You are trying to save her. I will try to help.”

“Even if I found a way to prevent the anchor from consuming her, even if she survived the Inquisition, you know what I have to do.”  
“They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting.” Cole jumped down from the bed and peered at Solas from under shaggy bangs. “You _could_ let them go.”  
Solas groaned. “I cannot. It would be so selfish. I cannot, even for her.”

Cole was silent for a moment. “I want to help,” he said.  
“Work will help,” he said tersely.  
“It won’t. You’ll think too much. The anchor gnaws her flesh but it devours your mind.”  
He needed something else to focus on.  
“The Iron Bull would like a rematch,” offered Cole. “You surprised him. He thinks he is ready now.”  
Solas laughed. “I would make a poor chess opponent right now.” He stood up, restless, his skin itching to be doing, to be lost in some movement. Had he been with the Inquisitor, he would have found relief in walking. Skyhold seemed suddenly too small.

Cole snapped his head toward the door, as if he had just heard a distant noise. “One of the workers slipped and fell into the plaster. He was high up, climbing the tower. He was thinking about how his brother used to race him to the top of the great pine that grows outside his mother’s door. He did not see the loose board. The plaster was deep and thick. It caught him like the Mire mud. Nothing shattered, but he will hurt later. The foreman wants to yell. He thinks he is angry, but really, he is worried. He tries to clean it off the man’s skin, but he is afraid it is too late, the crust already flaking, and white dust sparkling like frost. The worker will need healing for the burns.”

They hurried to the tower to help. It was not as serious as the foreman had feared and the man was able to return to work within minutes, leaving Solas idle again. But the plaster had given him an idea, and the foreman was too relieved to be annoyed when Solas requested some of the day’s quick lime supply. The workers even offered to mix him more plaster, but Solas refused, preferring to do it himself.

Soon he was smoothing plaster over one of the rotunda walls. His shoulders ached as he teetered on the unsteady scaffolding. Sweat stung his eyes and slithered down his tired back. But for a few hours, it was all he knew. No orb, no Corypheus, no dying Inquisitor, no anxiety or yearning. Just the scraping rumble of the spreader as it slid over stone and smooth possibilities it left in its wake.

He was sitting on the edge of the scaffold flaking off spatter when Iron Bull found him that evening. “Leliana said you’d been cooped up here all day,” he said, ducking through the doorway. “She thought you were brooding.” He looked at the finished section of wall. “I see she was correct. Nothing like a little manual labor to distract, is there? Of course, I prefer a decent brawl but—” he shrugged.  
“What can I do for you, Bull?” asked Solas, dropping down silently to the floor.  
“Well, Varric’s not here, so I figured my odds were better by half at cards.”  
Solas laughed. “Yes, but Blackwall isn’t here either to soften your losses.”  
“Cullen will do for that. Come on, let’s go get dinner. I’ll keep Sera from riding your ass if you keep Cole from reading my bluffs. Might even be able to win a hand or two against Leliana.”

For once, Solas didn’t need any urging. He was worn out and it felt good, like a fever that had broken or a displaced joint suddenly snapped back into place. He was comfortable and it was easy, pleasant to be around the others, even Sera. They could almost pretend they’d just stumbled into a local tavern for their weekly game and the world wasn’t ending at all. Almost.

They didn’t talk about it, but he could tell the absence of the Inquisitor was like a gap, an empty socket in the center of their lives. Blackwall kept to himself much of the time and it wasn’t difficult to imagine him quietly working on a project in the horse barn. Varric was constantly called away on business and Dorian was already making frequent trips to obscure book shops to track down materials for himself (and for Solas, the elf admitted to himself). But the Inquisitor was the axis they all revolved around. Even without speaking of the anchor or Corypheus, they were constantly thinking of her.

Josephine worried that she’d worded a letter wrong to the Inquisitor’s clan. She wanted to request a recipe for a dish Lavellan had expressed fondness for and asked Solas to make certain it wouldn’t offend. Cassandra argued with the architect in charge of renovations for an hour, insisting on a guard rail in the dungeon because the Inquisitor had a fascination with sitting on the edge of a large hole and tossing pebbles over the side. Even Vivienne stopped in to check with Josephine about a cream she had ordered to soothe the cracks in the Inquisitor’s fingers.

“You are happy they think of her and not the mark anymore,” said Cole as they stood on the causeway later that night. “But it also makes the hurt worse. You are not the only one who will miss her.”  
“I know, Cole. She’s become a vital part of many lives.”  
“I will send help. Tonight.”

Solas was uncertain what that meant, but the boy sprinted off and he walked slowly back to his quarters, almost as disheartened as he had been that morning. It was difficult to resist finding her in the Fade with every other thought wandering back to her, even in his sleep. He forced himself to concentrate on the illusion of rotunda walls he’d created and sighed as the careful design he’d been planning dissolved into a soft portrait of the Inquisitor. He blanked his mind to wipe it away and started again on the stylized version of the Conclave explosion.

“You are much changed, Solas,” said someone behind him.  
He spun around. “My friend,” he said, his face relaxing into a warm smile, “You have been greatly missed. I feared you were lost. I admit, I gave up looking shortly after the Breach was sealed. I’m sorry,” he let the shadow of the rotunda dissolve around them.  
Wisdom resolved into a form Solas preferred. “It was difficult to remain close to the tear. I did not wish to leave, but was compelled to. Compassion found me. I am glad Compassion is with you. Your task is a heavy one and you will need the aid.”  
“I would choose _your_ aid in it, if you’d lend it,” he said with a bitter tinge.  
“You know we cannot agree on this. I have not altered.” Wisdom paused for a moment. “But Compassion said that perhaps you had. It believed you were wavering. I disbelieved it, but I hoped… Is Compassion right? Has something happened to change your plans?”  
He sighed. “I have much to tell you, my friend. More than I has changed since we last spoke.”  
“I am listening.”

  
He started with the explosion, trying to remember every detail for the spirit, the panicked attempts to seal the rifts, the Inquisitor falling from the Fade back into the world, his anxious, pacing hours of waiting for her to wake or die. He expected Wisdom to stop him with questions about her as the story unspooled, she had, after all, been his entire focus for months. But the spirit asked him about the anchor, and the resurrection of Corypheus. It asked about the medallion Alexius had crafted and the appearance of the red lyrium. It did not ask about the Inquisitor. It inspected his memory of the others, only familiar with Compassion, but it sat passively whenever he mentioned her. At last, Solas fell silent, the tale complete. They sat in silence for some time.

“You love this woman, this Lavellan,” it said, but it was not a question.

“I can’t,” he answered quickly.  
“And yet, you do. Is your hesitation for her sake or for yours? She has made you doubt, reconsider. Perhaps she will also cause you to cast your disastrous plan aside.”  
“You know that’s not possible. No matter what my emotions might be. The Veil must come down, the People restored. _You_ restored.”  
Wisdom sighed. “Our argument was never over your goals, Solas, only your methods. You will destroy them all, even the Inquisitor. Yet you have affection for them. You see something worth saving in this world, yet you do not _try_.”  
“We’ve looked— both of us. Through all the Fade we’ve searched for another way. It does not exist.”  
The spirit smiled. “Solas, my friend, you have traveled much, on both sides of the Veil, through many lifetimes. I, too, have seen and learned much. But even _we_ have not discovered everything in existence. The amulet you found in Redcliffe is evidence of that. So are your comrades. You did not expect them to be as they are. And the seeming immortality of this Corypheus. There are surprises in the world still, even for one such as you.” Wisdom laughed. “And for me, as well. I will find out what I can about this anchor and about your enemy. You have given me much to think about. I thank you.” It made a slight bow and turned to go.  
“And the Inquisitor?” called Solas, “What is your advice about her?”  
“Oh Solas,” it said, “Don’t you know that love is unfathomable? Even to me. There is no such thing as wisdom in love. You must do as you think best. To be frank, I suspect you’ve already decided what you will do. For my part, I hope she succeeds in persuading you. It seems she is a good influence on you.”

The dream faded and Solas woke in his own quarters. He still had two days to wait until the plaster dried enough to start painting. _At least two weeks until she returns_ , his mind whispered. He feared for his sanity.


	18. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhSgI1BABRY

The days crept by. Neither did he find relief at night, waiting for the Inquisitor during his waking hours and answers from Wisdom during sleep.

He was usually a patient person, finding the events of the world only sped up as it aged. The progress of the sun or the seasons had always held little meaning for him, returning and returning as they did. But now— the anchor was an hourglass he stood beneath, vainly trying to halt the flow of the sand. It was worse now that she was gone.

His obsession with its imagined growth led him to discard all the research he was doing on Corypheus and begin combing the library for rare healing spells that could reverse it. He contacted every available agent and sent them in search of new techniques as well. He had every report to Leliana intercepted, but information from the Inquisitor was scarce and never concerned her health. He hoped that was a good sign.

He twisted the leather cord she’d left to mark his place, wrapping it loosely around his wrist. He told himself that it was for safekeeping, so he could find it to return it when she came home. It hung against his skin for several days, warming at his pulse point, lightly spattered with bright paint from his fresco.

  
He was considering finding her as she slept, resorting to the Fade to relieve the anxiety, when Cole wandered into the rotunda. The boy stood before the completed fresco for a long moment.  
“She’s not in pain. You can stop worrying,” he said.  
“It is not just the pain I’m worried about.”  
“She will like this, when she sees it,” Cole ran a finger over the streaking explosion. He tilted his head and then shifted a nearby candle sconce to the center of the flames, adding a glow that had not been there before. The fresco flickered in the candlelight, came alive. He perched on the edge of the desk where Solas was sitting.

“You should go see her,” he said casually.  
Solas shook his head. “I haven’t been invited. It’s inappropriate, even in order to check on the spread of the anchor.”  
“Not in the Fade. She’s at the gate. She’s looking for you. Hoping. Frightened that you left.”  
The chair clattered against the stone as he sprang up and his book teetered on the edge of the desk where he had dropped it. Cole caught it with a smile.

  
A large crowd huddled at the gate and for a moment Solas thought about pushing through, assuming that one of the party was injured. But he could hear Iron Bull roaring with laughter and he let his jaw unclench and his hands loosen until the Qunari groaned, “Can’t believe you downed a dragon without me, Boss. A dragon!”  
“It didn’t give us much choice, Bull. You can have the first crack at the next one, I promise.”  
He’d forgotten how much he loved her laugh.

  
Cullen was ordering the massive beast’s head be taken to the tannery and most of the crowd followed it, more awed by the dead thing than the elven woman who had slain it. Solas stood still, allowing the space between them to empty. Varric was retelling the story to Iron Bull, complete with elaborate exaggerations and interruptions from Dorian or rapid questions from Sera. Leliana was pacing in front of a bedraggled looking man in irons while Blackwall listed his crimes to Cassandra. Which left the Inquisitor standing apart, watching the others, as if she were beyond a barrier they had erected.

  
“You see what a _word_ can do now, Solas?” asked Vivienne in a low voice as she stepped up beside him. “Just a few from you and she’s slaying dragons. Imagine what results a friendship— or more, could produce.”  
“That is _not_ why I am her friend,” he hissed.  
“That _is_ a shame,” she smirked, “You are so _adept_ at the Game. But do remember my dear, the best players are the ones who don’t fool themselves along with everyone else…” She glided toward Cassandra, already sneering at the prisoner.

  
He turned back to where the Inquisitor had been standing and found her watching him. She waited, neither avoiding his gaze nor stepping toward him. She had said she wouldn’t push, and she’d meant it. Somewhere, in some distant reality, the chatter died down as the others noticed, but Solas didn’t hear it. In another moment, the space between them would be too much. He’d find a reason to close it, to breathe the same air as her, to touch her, to make her laugh.

But that was a moment in the future. Just then he was absorbed in remembering her face, trying to pick out what had changed, trying to notice what had gone ignored before. A little nick near her left eye from a recent battle, a solitary thread of white shining in her hair, the bright square of cotton where she’d patched over a slash in her robe’s knee.

It stretched on so long, this moment of remembering, of feeling he’d severely underestimated her sway over him, that Dorian cleared his throat and even Varric fumbled for something to snap them free. “Inquisitor,” said the dwarf a little too loudly, “I think a dragon head deserves a few rounds in the tavern. Supper at least. You coming?”

She glanced at Varric, and the moment cracked, spilled into the next. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. They drifted away, some to the tavern, some to see the prisoner into his cell. Solas didn’t wait. He was beside her even before she’d turned from Varric.

“A dragon?” he asked with a smile.  
“It was stealing sheep and burned some of the farms. The villagers were afraid it would start grabbing children.”  
“And your only injury is that small scratch?” He reached toward her face, his fingertip humming with magic.  
“Well don’t _heal_ it,” she laughed, “I won’t have any scars to go with the story.”  
“You have a mighty trophy without it,” he said, closing the scratch. He let his fingers drift lightly down the length of her face and the smile dropped from his face. “Your absence has been deeply felt. Welcome home, lethallan.”  
“Are you well?”  
“I am,” he answered, willing himself not to blush with embarrassment. “And you? Is the anchor worse?”  
“No, it is the same.” She held out her palm for him to see.

He bent over it, gently spreading her fingers to get a clear view of the mark. It was unchanged. He breathed easier than he had in days. She leaned in as he concentrated on her hand. “I _missed_ you.” Her voice was soft, just below the busy chatter of the courtyard. He glanced up, ready to make a jest, but it died on his lips at the solemness of her face. He closed his eyes and kissed the back of her hand.  
“And I missed you,” he said, straightening.

Cassandra called to them, beckoning them to dinner in the tavern with their friends. It struck him as they walked slowly from the gate together. If he had been hovering on the edge of a cliff before, her absence had pushed him over. He was scrambling to pull himself back up, but it was no longer a question of _if_ he let himself go, let himself love her, it was only a question of _when_. And the anchor was a rapidly emptying hourglass.

Though Josephine made good use of the dragon among the nobles and Iron Bull never tired of hearing the story of that first kill, the news from Crestwood was mostly dire. The Grey Wardens had been even more corrupted than Solas had thought. He suspected Corypheus’s hold over them had to do with his apparent immortality. He was using the blight to convince the Wardens they were dying. It made them desperate, foolish.

“So we’re supposed to just wait around for Hawke to contact us again?” scowled Cassandra, crossing her arms. “That worked so well last time, _Varric_.”  
The Inquisitor sighed. “Yes, Seeker. We have to wait. He and the Warden are headed to an old Tevinter ruin in the Western Approach. The Wardens have been called to meet there, but not for several weeks yet. Since they don’t travel as a united group and have no real local base, that’s our best chance of finding out what’s going on— and what’s motivating them to side with Corypheus.”  
“And in the meantime?”  
“Rest,” offered Lavellan. “Try to gather information. Train the new recruits. I’m certain there is plenty of paperwork to do if that doesn’t appeal.”  
Cassandra snorted.  
The Inquisitor wiggled her finger through the patch in her robe. “I don’t suppose you are better at armor repair than I am?”  
“Burn it, darling,” advised Vivienne.  
“Yes, please,” added Dorian.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra interrupted before the conversation could further degenerate, “every day we wait, Corypheus is building his army, inching closer to the disaster you saw in Redcliffe—”  
“Seeker!” Varric covered his irritation with a laugh, but Solas could see it in the dwarf’s familiar movements anyway. “This woman just defeated a dragon, stopped an undead invasion and uncovered not one, but two catastrophic secrets in the past few weeks. What more do you want from her? You want her to collapse for three days like she did at the Breach? Doesn’t help that the damned mark’s been flaring and burning since the rift in Crestwood.”  
“Varric—” The Inquisitor winced and Solas leaned forward catching her hand in his. Cassandra immediately grew concerned and hovered over them.  
“You said it wasn’t hurting, lethallan.”  
“It wasn’t. It hasn’t, not for a few days. And Dorian helped when it did— I didn’t want to worry anyone.”  
He shot a sharp glance at Dorian, who just offered him a flourishing bow.  
“Inquisitor,” sighed the Seeker, “We are here to _help_ you, but we cannot if you don’t let us—”

Solas stood up. “Excuse us. The Inquisitor needs rest and I need to get her a poultice.”  
He led her out of the tavern before the others could protest. The spring night was still cool and the courtyard was empty. Everyone was either snug in their own quarters or behind them in the tavern.  
“I didn’t know there were any herbs that could help,” she said. “If you show me how to make it, I won’t have to bother you anymore.”  
“It is no bother. And there is no poultice. I just thought you didn’t need another lecture.”  
“Thank you,” she laughed.  
“But I can try to ease the pain—”  
“There is no pain. Not now. It was only near the rifts. Once they closed, it was as you see it now.” She traced the anchor with her thumb. “We keep assuming there is something wrong with it, that it isn’t working properly— whatever that means. But maybe it doesn’t need healing. It is a powerful tool. Nothing powerful comes without a cost. You should not waste your energy trying to reverse it. We know it is— ineffective.”  
“And if it gets worse? Cole— he told me that you expect it to kill you.”

She looked up from her hand and caught the sad, still expression on his face. She laughed softly. “Oh Solas, is _that_ what has you so concerned?”  
“How could it not, lethallan? The prospect of your death is not a pleasant one. And accepting it without a fight—”  
“I never said I wouldn’t fight it,” she said sharply, but he knew it was not anger with him. “But this is not a tavern brawl or a skirmish. What did you expect to happen to someone hailed as the ‘Herald of Andraste’? And an elf, a heathen, on top of it all. _They_ expect it too, all of them. You told me we had to give them a warrior saint, a flawless hero. Saints are only good for one thing. Dying to save someone else. Besides, if you live long enough, no one is flawless. I am not going to yield until I must. But if Corypheus doesn’t kill me, then the mark will. And if the mark doesn’t, then the Shemlen will. No matter what we do, this will always be our fault in their eyes. Everything has its price.”  
He winced at ‘our’, as she claimed ownership of a disaster that she had no hand in. “But such a price—” he protested.  
She smiled and it was sad and small. “It is not such a heavy one, lethallin. What is one elf’s life against the whole world?”

_Everything. More than everything,_ his mind screamed, but he pushed it back. Hadn’t he told himself the same lie over and over and over? The world, his world, had already cost many elves’ lives, and it would cost many more before the end. But _hers_ — He was startled as she reached up and swept a tear from his cheek.

“Don’t fret,” she whispered, “Unless we are very unlucky, it isn’t going to happen tomorrow. Or the next day. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even last the week.”  
She smiled and he couldn’t help but answer with his own. But nothing shook the heartsickness.  
The Inquisitor stifled a yawn. “I apologize, lethallin, it is late and Crestwood was very far. Perhaps we can wait until tomorrow to plan the funeral?”  
He shook his head at her joke. “Goodnight, lethallan,” he said.

She hesitated and then folded him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a low song for him, alone, “You needed this more than a lecture too.” He melted around her, feeling the slow, calm rise of her breath as her back rose and fell beneath his palms and the warmth of her arms banished the cold night air. “No more sorrow,” she whispered, “No bad dreams for me. Goodnight, Solas.” She slid away from him and walked toward Skyhold’s keep. He wanted to call her back, chase her. It was a kind of panic, letting her go, but he did.

“You’ll regret wasting this time.” Dorian’s voice was kind and it endeared him to the elf, where the comment would normally just annoy.  
“I know,” Solas admitted, still watching the door where the Inquisitor had disappeared. “But it would only cause complications.”  
“So? Complications can be good. Her existence is a complication, is it not?”  
He was silent, not having any answer.  
“Oh, wait, I understand. There’s another woman, isn’t there?” asked Dorian with a sly grin.  
“No!”  
“Man then?”  
Solas sighed in exasperation. “Nothing like that, Dorian.” He didn’t elaborate.  
Dorian leaned on his staff. “Hmm,” he said with a frown. “Very well, keep your complicated secrets. But just a friendly word from someone who’s been through it?”

He turned to look at the Tevinter.  
“There’s going to be a day that she’s not going to walk back through that gate, no matter how long you wait for her. And all your chances for— complications will be over, for better or worse. But that’s not the day you’ll be obsessed with, not really. Because we all know it’s coming, though we try to push it farther away. You’ll be ready for that day. Tonight, that’s what’s going to haunt you, and all the other moments like it. All the extra time you could have spent enjoying— complications and didn’t. I hope there will not be many moments like that for you, my friend.” Dorian gave him a significant look and then strode off toward the library.

  
_Damn Dorian_ , he thought.


	19. Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pQo9OQlIB8

Wisdom was waiting for him. “I apologize for not coming earlier,” said the spirit, “I was observing your Inquisitor. It was almost as easy in Crestwood as it is here. Pressing through the Veil would have been no harder than tearing a cobweb if I chose. And many did, losing their way, unable to find the Fade again. Closing the rift helped many spirits. They are no longer drawn to the tear and will return home in time. She went out of her way to aid another, a spirit of Command. I admit, I would have expected her to have helped if you were with her, but she did not hesitate, though one of her companions strenuously objected.”  
“I am not surprised,” he responded, feeling a deep, aching warmth.

  
It touched his hand. “I’m sorry, Solas, I have found the way to remove the anchor.”  
He was confused. “Why are you sorry?”  
“Because the only way to do it requires the orb that Corypheus stole. At best, she has a handful of years before it consumes first the limb and then makes its way to her heart.”  
Solas rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he cried. “They would have destroyed everyone if I hadn’t separated them.”  
“Yes,” said the spirit, “They would have. Your decision saved many lives.”  
“And cost more— _continues_ to cost more.”  
“The Inquisitor told you that everything had a price. But you already knew that.”  
“It’s _too much_. And when I try to right my wrong, it just increases. A monster unleashed upon them all, as bad as the others had been, worse maybe. Wars and slavery and poverty. The suffering never ends. And now—” he trailed away.  
“And now _her_ , Solas. Perhaps it is time to accept that the world must remain as it is. That you chose what you thought was the lesser evil. That you did your best and _they_ are responsible for their own lives. Listen to your mage friend. Do not waste more time. Lay aside your plan. The cost will only keep escalating.”

Solas laughed and it sounded bitter and slightly mad even to him. “It can’t escalate more than it has. There is nothing more to take. There is nothing more precious than what has already been put at risk,” he muttered.  
“All the more reason to appreciate the time that is left,” said Wisdom. “Help her retrieve the orb, and you can still save—”  
The deep thrum of several voices rippled over the Fade.  
“What is happening?” he asked.  
The spirit’s form collapsed and it began wicking rapidly away, its glow diminishing even as he watched. “Summoning,” it said. Solas reached for it, pulling the Fade tight around its dissolving flesh. “No use,” sighed Wisdom, “I cannot resist—”  
“Where?” he cried.  
“The river— Dirthavaren. Help, Sola—”  
The last winking particles sped away and Wisdom was gone. Solas woke up, gasping.

It was still hours before dawn, hours before he could even approach anyone for assistance or set out himself. Who would he even ask? Even Varric wouldn’t understand. The others— the others would kill Wisdom when they found it. Even if it were still itself. And the Inquisitor had much heavier duties than one enslaved spirit— he had to tell her he was leaving. How was she going to react? Would she try to forbid it, order him to stay as she had just a few weeks prior? Would she find a way to help him?

The wait was intolerable and he abandoned his quarters after clumsily packing and taking up his staff. He paced the long throne room, ignoring the sleepy stares of the guard. _Every minute Wisdom gets closer to being harmed,_ he thought and raced up the steps to the tower, no longer able to wait. He rapped loudly on the Inquisitor’s door, then called to her, impatient to be away. He was about to knock again when the door was flung open. She was disheveled and bleary, but her staff was in hand and she was struggling to pull on the leather armor she wore beneath her robe.

“Solas? What has happened?”  
“My oldest friend was captured by mages and enslaved— I tried to stop it, but—”  
She looked alarmed. “Slavers this far south? Have you alerted the guard yet? Do you know which direction they took him?”  
“Not ‘him,’ lethallan. ‘It.’ You need not be alarmed, Skyhold is not compromised. My friend is a spirit of Wisdom. It’s been summoned against its will.”  
“Why?” she asked and then shook her head. “Never mind, that isn’t important now. Where do we go? What do we need to do?”  
“Dirthavaren.”  
“The Plains? So far,” she said sadly.

He began to notice the deep circles beneath her eyes and the way she was still trying to finish her armor, a task that would have taken mere seconds if she had been rested.  
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, I should not have bothered you with this, it is purely personal. You’ve just returned—”  
“Stop Solas. There is nothing that you can ask of me that could equal what you’ve given the Inquisition. Or me. The distance isn’t troubling for my sake, but for your friend’s. If we ride hard and light, we will still not arrive in the Plains before nightfall.”  
Relief flooded him. “It will take time for them to complete the binding, and I can reverse it, if needed.”  
“Get the horses, I have to leave a note or Cassandra will have everyone combing the mountain.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Two months ago, they wouldn’t have bothered to look, and now… I will only be a moment.” She turned in search of a quill.  
“Inquisitor,” he said, grabbing her hand.  
“Hmm?”  
“Thank you for this.” He stepped toward her and kissed her forehead.

He found Cole already saddling three horses. “I wanted to help. It’s my friend too,” the boy offered.  
“Of course. Thank you, Cole.”  
“She didn’t want to bring anyone else. She thinks they wouldn’t understand. She doesn’t want anyone to hurt you. But I understand.” Cole jumped lightly onto his horse. “I picked the fastest. At least, they say they’re the fastest. They are ready to run.”  
Solas climbed into his saddle expecting a long wait for the Inquisitor but she was already crossing the courtyard at a run, calling for the guard to open the gate.

“Cole,” she said, sliding onto the third horse, “I’m glad you are here.”  
The guard had still not opened the gate, but stood fidgeting in front of it.  
“Open the gate, quickly please,” called the Inquisitor.  
“Apologies, your worship but— ah, we’ve been given orders by Commander Cullen not to open the gate at night unless he authorizes it.”  
“Very good, I’m authorizing it. Please open the gate.”  
The guard hesitated.  
“The Inquisitor gave you a command, soldier,” rumbled Solas.  
“I know, it’s just that— shouldn’t you have an escort, your worship? It’s dangerous outside at night.”  
He could tell by the twitch of her shoulder that she was losing patience. “Your concern is touching, but clearly, I have an escort. Please open the gate.”  
The guard peered around at Cole and Solas. “No warrior?”  
“I can assure you, the Inquisitor is more dangerous than anything that we will encounter,” snapped Solas.  
“We don’t have time for this.” Lavellan raised her hand and the heavy gate flung open with a loud boom. They rode around the bewildered guard and across the causeway. “Well,” she sighed, “If they weren’t awake before, they are now. Let’s hope it was the last delay.”

They did not speak again until dawn, concentrating only on the next hoofbeat, the next mile. They stopped to change horses at an Inquisition camp, just as the sky was lightening. Cole had insisted. “They hurt,” he’d yelled, “They cannot run anymore. So thirsty.”  
The Inquisitor glanced behind her, catching Solas’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with pity. “There will be fresh mounts at the next camp,” she called to the boy, “And fresh water.”

The agents had scrambled to ready the mounts. They were barely awake and moving slowly. Lavellan shoved them away. “Forget the saddles,” she said, “We don’t need them.”  
He was never more grateful that she’d grown up Dalish. They were back on the road before the sun had broken the horizon. He was sore by the time they reached the Plains. The Inquisitor was nodding as her horse continued to run, jerking awake every so often as she slid too far to one side or the other and Solas watched her, in perpetual terror that she’d suffer a crippling fall, but unable to tell her to slow down. Only Cole seemed fresh.

The horses slowed as they approached another Inquisition camp, and the Inquisitor roused herself, staring around at the unfamiliar terrain. She stumbled as she dismounted, but waved Solas off when he tried to help.  
“This is not how I pictured Dirthavaren,” she said sadly, looking at the dry and broken terrain.  
“The Orlesian civil war has altered it beyond recognition.”  
“They come here to die, but they can’t,” said Cole, and pointed to a slow moving skeleton.  
“The undead just don’t stop, Inquisitor,” said a scout. “We aren’t certain why, but we keep burning the remains and more keep showing up.”

  
“How far to the river?” she asked.  
“It runs the length of the plains. Which part of the river did you need to get to?”  
“This way,” said Solas, interrupting the scout. Cole and the Inquisitor ran behind him. The sinking sun stained the bare rocks gold and red. The rashvines flickered in the breeze, reminding him of long, bloody streaks. Bones littered even the paths through the plains.

“How many battlefields are here?” cried Lavellan, trying to avoid crushing them underfoot.  
“It was their home,” said Cole, “Before the wandering. They died to keep it. The heavy rains pushed them into the earth, made them part of it. Moss and flowers grew over them and all was still.”  
“These— were elves?”  
“Once,” said the boy, “But then the war and the Breach. And something else uses their bodies to fight now.”

There was a fresh corpse in front of Solas. He stopped to examine it. “One of the mages,” he said.  
“Arrows. Bandits, maybe?” suggested the Inquisitor. She ran to another set. They were close to the river now. He could smell the water.  
“These are— different,” she said, crouching beside one of the bodies. He walked over to her. “These are burns.”  
“And claw marks,” he added. _We’re too late_. “Oh no— no, no, no,” he cried and sprinted toward the water.

The Pride Demon raged in the small circle of crystals, roaring and snarling. It was not the spirit he had known, not the one who had aided him so many times and appealed to his better nature in his darkest years.  
The Inquisitor gasped. “What have they done?”  
“Let us ask them,” he snarled, pointing to an approaching mage.  
“Thank the Maker!” cried the mage, “We have been battling that demon for hours, most of us are completely exhausted.”  
“Battling it?” he snapped, “ _You_ summoned it.”  
“Well— yes. There were bandits in the area, too many for just the party—”  
That was it then, they’d made Wisdom fight for them. “You bound it and forced it to serve you without even asking its purpose?”  
“It’s a-a demon,” stuttered the mage. “You don’t talk to demons—”  
“It _wasn’t_. It was a spirit of Wisdom before you twisted and enslaved it.”  
There was another roar.

“Solas,” the Inquisitor said gently, “I think it’s in pain. Is there any way to help?”  
“If we destroy the crystals, the binding will end. Once it’s no longer under a compulsion— there should no longer be an issue.”  
“Your friend will return to normal?”  
“I don’t know. But it is the only thing that may help.”  
“What? You’re going to release that _thing_? It will slaughter us all,” cried the mage.  
“ _Please_ , lethallan,” he begged.  
“Of course, Solas.”

She nodded to Cole and they approached the large demon. It towered over them, but the Inquisitor didn’t cower. She flung lightning at the first crystal while Cole tried to crack another with his dagger. The crystals burst and the demon sprang forward. Lavellan sprinted to the next stone, coming dangerously close to the spirit’s wicked claws.  
“My friend,” Solas shouted, waving his staff. “Remember yourself. Resist the compulsion, it is almost ended.”  
The demon slashed at him and he fade stepped out of the way, still speaking to it, distracting it from the others to give them a chance. It stumbled toward him but stopped, reaching the end of its tether. Another crystal shattered with a tinkling crash. The demon turned at the sound. “No! I’m over here,” Solas shouted, but a sizzling crack of light split the air and the Inquisitor cried out in pain. She’d been too concentrated on the crystals to remember her barrier. He held his breath trying to see where she’d fallen. But she was up and racing toward Cole, who’d almost finished the final stone, wedging his dagger into a fracture. He could see blood on her arm as she raised it and threw a burst of ice at the crystal, crumbling it to a fine dust. The demon fell and shrank.

It took the form it always had for him. He ran to help, but it was too late.  
“I’m sorry,” he moaned, collapsing to his knees.  
“Do not be sorry,” said Wisdom, “You helped me. I regret that I cannot aid you any longer. My friend, do not let me linger here. Lead me home.”  
He opened a small gateway to the Fade and the spirit swirled away, like dust, leaving no trace. He stood up, catching a glimpse of the mages cowering near a steep rockface. He strode toward them, feeling more power than he’d felt in years crackling under his skin.

“We wouldn’t have tried to summon it, but we were frightened. There are so many dangers here—”  
“That was my _friend_. You tortured and murdered it.” He raised both hands, a fierce ball of flame between them.  
“Solas—” called the Inquisitor, but he ignored her. The blast was significant, scorching several feet around it. He turned back to his companions.

Cole was crying, clutching his arms around himself. The Inquisitor was shaking, her eyes wide with shock. She pushed Cole behind her, casting a barrier around them. Her arm was dripping blood. He could see the gash in her armor at the shoulder.  
_They are frightened. Of me_ , he realized. She flinched as he approached the barrier and placed a hand on it. “Lethallan,” he said sadly, “I could never harm you.”  
“You are not yourself, Solas.”  
“They were ignorant and— and _brutal_.” His face twisted into an angry snarl and Cole shrank behind her. He struggled to smooth his face.  
“I _know_. I know what they did, lethallin. And I know you are hurting. But they didn’t understand. What they did, they did out of desperation and— and foolishness. It was a _mistake_.”  
He shook his head. “I cannot be sorry for this, not now.”

He reached through her barrier and she gasped, the spell stuttering and failing. He grasped her shoulder, healing the deep slash. “Do not lose faith in me, lethallan.” _Please. Do not cast me out._ “I— I need some time alone. I will meet you in Skyhold.” He did not look back.


	20. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not canon. It is long but I kept it to one chapter. My guess at what Solas did and set up for future plans. Next chapter is his return to Skyhold if you want to skip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p5FvpgiRqB0

“Why do you linger here youngling?” The spirit hovered just beyond the boy’s reach, gliding through the half crumbled arch of an ancient doorway.  
The boy was crouching beside the charred stones of a long abandoned firepit. He stood up at the sight of the spirit. “I like to watch the people that were here.”  
“You can see the memories in this place?”  
The boy frowned. “Not just here. I’ve seen them many places. Lost places. Forgotten places. But this memory is different from the others.” He touched his own cheek. “The people here were bare. Even the Elders.”  
“Yes,” said the spirit.  
“Were they cast out? Was there something wrong with them?”  
“No. They were free. They were not bound to the Evanuris. They lived their entire lives without them and entered uthenera long before either the blood writing or the beings you worship existed.”  
“But they seem— _happy_.”  
The spirit nodded. “Like any lives, they had their balance of joy and sorrow, but yes, I believe, on the whole, they _were_ happy.”  
“How can that be? The Evanuris protect us, give us purpose. How could these people be happy without them?”  
“Perhaps they protected each other and each found their own purpose, one that suited them.”  
The boy hesitated. “I never thought of that. Do you know more about the bare-faced people? ” he said at last, rubbing at his own vallaslin.  
“What is your name, youngling?” asked the spirit.  
“Solas.”  
“And I am Wisdom.”

He let the memory dissolve, aching both for his friend and the boy that he had been. Marked and bound but without the added weight of history. Another cropped up in its wake.

Barely past his youth, he was a footsoldier in Mythal’s forces. The spirit had taught him how to hide his gifts and bide his time. The Evanuris did not treat competitors kindly. He had wanted to run from his masters, find a secret place far beyond the bounds of Elvhenan. It was Wisdom that persuaded him to wait, to win his freedom instead of taking it.

“If you run, you will live in secret forever. You will never be safe,” said the spirit. “But if you earn your freedom, with your gifts you can walk among the Evanuris as equals. Something that only Ghilan’nain has done. You will be able to help others. Spread the idea of freedom, and the iron grip of the ‘gods’ will falter. People will see them for what they are.”

And so, for the love of his friend, Solas had waited. The long war was in a lull. Both sides had grown weary of wasting the lives of their slaves and for several years they had withdrawn into their own territories, with only a smattering of skirmishes to punctuate the decades of relative peace. But Andruil wandered too far, reaching the heart of the Fade. She brought a terrible weapon back with her. It drove the huntress mad and her insanity spread through her slaves like flame. Even the Evanuris were afraid to approach her. At last the disease began to touch others, to leak beyond Andruil’s borders and the People appealed to Mythal for justice.

They had been assembled at the great temple. Thousands of warriors waiting for Mythal to address them. The day had been piercingly bright, but cold. The warm breath of the legion made a mist that sparkled silver in the sun. Solas was still of low rank and he hovered near the rear of the grand courtyard. Mythal was only a flash of metal armor and a throaty, rolling voice from where he stood.

They were to engage Andruil’s forces and prevent them from coming to the huntress’s aid while Mythal weakened her. No one was to touch Andruil except Mythal.  
“Andruil has locked herself away in her temple,” cried Mythal. “To draw her out, someone must bring her a message. A rumour of a great beast at the foot of the Sundermount, a plea from the People for her to slay it. Who will deliver this message?”

The courtyard was silent, the warriors as statues. Only the long flags on the temple spires snapping in the breeze. They all knew of the madness of Andruil and of her cruelty to anyone caught within her borders who was not her own. Mythal waited, still and straight on the temple steps. She, alone, would not force the task upon her people. She would continue to wait until someone offered. It might have been a moment removed from time. Solas recognized that his chance had come.

“I will deliver the message,” he shouted. The clang of armor as the warriors in the courtyard turned to face him was deafening. The others shifted out of the way as he walked slowly forward. He fought his own body to keep it from shaking, but Wisom’s voice kept echoing in his head. _If you earn your freedom, you will walk among the Evanuris as equals_. “I will draw Andruil from her temple,” he said, bowing to Mythal. Her gaze was stern and skeptical.  
“You are very young,” she said hesitantly, “Is it ambition that compels you? Do you seek a short cut to a command position? Because I doubt you will live to be rewarded.”  
He scowled, arrogance and anger burning in his chest. “Andruil will not kill _me_. But I do not seek command. I would refuse it, unless forced.”

  
She crossed her arms, surprised. “What then, do you expect in return for this service?”  
“Freedom,” he answered. He did not shout it, but neither was it a whisper of shame. The general beside her drew his sword with the screech of scraping metal, but Mythal held up a hand to stop him.  
“Your name?”  
“Solas.”  
She looked at him for a long moment. “And what would you do with your freedom, once you had it Solas?”  
“Find a way to free the others.”

The general was down the steps and had struck him across the face almost before the words had finished tumbling from him. He was flung to the ground from the force of the blow, but Mythal kept the soldier from repeating it, and Solas rose from the stones without comment. He swept the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand.

She handed him a leather scrollcase with the great tree motif embossed on it. “You will take the message. If you survive, we will speak again.”  
He made a slow bow and walked out of the courtyard, leaving a thousand warriors murmuring behind him.

“I am uncertain if that was brave or just foolish,” said Wisdom trailing beside him as he left the temple.  
“I am uncertain as well,” he muttered.  
“I came to warn you, Solas. You must not use Andruil’s eluvian. She has tainted it with the same disease that spread through her population. Even spirits are succumbing to it. We must find out what it is and end it.”  
“We?” asked Solas, looking warily at his friend.  
“You are the only one who has risked entering her borders. It is not just her people who will suffer from this. She has brought something back that even she cannot control.”  
“All for this endless, pointless war.” Solas shook his head in frustration. “I will learn what I can. You must warn Mythal about the eluvian. She will stop the other Evanuris from using it. Let us hope that stops the spread.”  
“Indeed,” answered Wisdom. “Good luck, my friend. I will meet you on your return.”

Without the eluvians, the trip took him far longer than expected, but he trusted his friend to reach Mythal in time. He made no attempt at subterfuge, walking casually up to the gates of her temple. An arch made by the outstretched stone wings of two owls held the thick oak doors of the gate. They were tightly shut. Solas banged on the hard wooden panels. A gaunt archer appeared on the shoulder of the left owl.

“Speak,” she said, aiming her arrow at Solas.  
He made a low bow. “I come with a plea from the People. A terrible serpent has come to the Sundermount. Even the bravest of Mythal’s warriors have been unable to defeat it.”  
“Andruil does not accept petitions at this time. Look elsewhere for aid,” said the archer, turning away.  
“It is upon the request of Mythal herself.” He waved the scrollcase and the archer froze. She whistled and he watched half a dozen elves drop from the nearby trees. The heavy gates creaked open and Solas bit back a gasp.

The land that had once been lush and green, teeming with beasts and birds, was cracked and dry. Sharp red crystals burst from the earth and the few limping halla were swollen and their pristine hides polluted with deep black veins. He was quickly surrounded by Andruil’s people. They too, had thick webs of dark veins threading over their skin, bubbling under the vallaslin and their eyes were cloudy and distant.

“Deliver your message and depart,” said the archer. He was not given a choice. The silent escort marched him directly to the temple. He did not dare to attempt to draw them into conversation. He was allowed only as far as the courtyard. A massive ironbark tree stood in the center,its massive branches had once formed a green and gold roof over the entire square. It was barren now, scraping the blue sky with dull, twisted twigs.

Andruil emerged from the temple. Her armor was not as he remembered. It was deep red, the color of congealing blood and her helm completely covered her face, allowing only her eyes to show. They were opaque, filled with the gray film that clouded the others’ eyes, yet they maintained the menace of a predator. She carried a spear of the same. His memory insisted he’d heard singing as she approached, but Solas doubted himself. It seemed more a dream than something that had actually happened.

He’d bowed, offering the scroll to her. She’d taken it and then said, “Bind him. He is a trespasser.”  
Grabbed by two of the men who’d been in the escort, he’d struggled and protested that he was only carrying a message from Mythal. Andruil had read the scroll and then paced like a wild cat as he was tied to the trunk of the ironbark tree.  
“You used to be the most gracious of hosts, Andruil. What has happened here?” he asked, and was hit for the second time that week for insolence.  
“This serpent is a falsehood,” said the Evanuris, ignoring his groan and his question. Solas felt his heart begin to pound. “You are a spy, sent by Mythal to steal what I have rightfully claimed.” She twisted the glittering spear in her hand, then held the point to his chest. “You may get a good look, but you will never return to tell them what you have seen.”

He struggled to keep his voice neutral because the spear seared without even touching his skin. A crawling headache began behind his eyes, but he managed to speak calmly. “I seek only your assistance in defeating a serpent of terrible power. It destroys the crops and decimates the flocks. It has stolen many children. The People cried to Mythal for assistance, but even she is no match. She appeals to you to help us. I know nothing else. I _see_ nothing else.” He held Andruil’s gaze. The spear retreated, and with it, the headache.

She went back to pacing. “This beast, where did it come from?”  
“We do not know. It emerged from a cavern several weeks ago. Many have attempted to subdue it, and all have perished except Mythal, who retreated, wounded.” The lies came easier as he continued. He reminded himself not to volunteer too much, lest she see through him.

She folded her blood-red arms over her chest and the chime of the crystal as she did so made him dizzy and nauseous. The ropes bit into his arms as he struggled to stay upright. “If I march upon Mythal’s lands, she will be able to claim I have committed an act of war upon her.”  
“She is your _ally_ ,” he gasped. Someone behind him pulled the rope tighter.  
“She _was_. But now I have discovered more power than she has yet imagined. Mythal is jealous that I surpass her after all these centuries. She lays a trap for me.”

She was utterly mad. Perilous and insane. He shook his head. “No, you have the scroll. She gives you sanction in her own hand. You have _proof_.”  
Andruil stopped pacing and looked at him for a long while. “Hmm,” she said at last. “This serpent is rare?”  
He knew he had her. “None have seen the like.”  
“Where is it’s nest?”  
“At the base of the mountain. It sleeps in the cavern there, during the heat of the day.”

She turned away from him toward the woman who had struck him. “Muster the Hunt. You will follow me to Sundermount. The beast is mine. This is the perfect excuse to move on Mythal and you will proceed to her temple.”  
“What? That is _madness_ Andruil!” cried Solas, though he knew Mythal had already anticipated that Andruil would bring her forces, expecting trouble.  
He was slapped again for his efforts.  
“Leave the hound for _him_ ,” said Andruil and he could hear the sneer in her voice. A mangy wolf was brought out from the temple. It’s hair was almost gone and large black lumps covered its skin, bursting with gray fluid here and there. It’s eyes were the same empty cloud as the eyes of the elves and it snarled as it sniffed the air. She had meant for him to be frightened, but Solas felt only pity as it was loosely tied with a fraying vine just feet from him.

The sound of marching feet filled the courtyard and then receded as the Hunt began to muster near the eluvian. The wolf tugged at the vine, growling and drooling as he caught the scent of prey. Solas wondered if it were blind. He pulled against his own ropes, but found them unmoving. He tried to twist around, tried to see if he had a guard or any witnesses. The wolf’s vine was slipping and creaking, dried out and splitting like everything else in the tainted land.

Solas tried to twist his hand enough to cast at the wolf. He could feel the warmth of blood dripping from his wrist into his palm and the wolf smelled it. It snarled and hurled desperately against the vine. He managed a burst of flame that singed the rope and snapped one hand free, just as the wolf’s vine gave way. It leapt at his throat and he raised his free arm intending to make it sleep. It’s fangs scraped his neck as it fell dead. Solas looked at his own hand in shock. His magic was much stronger here. Is this what Andruil meant? He shuddered and quickly untied himself.

He checked his neck in panic, but found the skin unbroken. He was careful to heal the cuts at his wrist before touching the carcass of the wolf. Wisdom had wanted him to gather information and the temple was empty, the entirety of Andruil’s slaves following her to battle. A simple messenger had not been expected to survive. The wolf was too heavy to carry. He severed its head with an abandoned sword left in the racks adorning the courtyard. He carried the wolf’s head by one long ear and sought out one of the red crystals that littered the ground. The ache in his head returned when he approached one. He didn’t dare carry a large one back to Mythal’s lands, even for Wisdom. He shattered it with a freezing spell instead, carefully sliding a few thin slivers into the discarded scrollcase.

He found Wisdom waiting for him in his sparse quarters when he returned to the temple. He’d considered joining the battle at Sundermount, but what he’d seen in Andruil’s lands haunted him. The duel between two Evanuris paled in comparison. He would worry about the price of his absence later.  
“What have you found?” asked the spirit.  
Solas showed it the shards and the wolf head, describing what he’d seen. “The crystals seem to spread it, somehow. Andruil is covered in it and she’s— unstable. Changed from the few times I have seen her in the past. But it seems to spread a disease or a toxin to the others. I don’t know if it has touched their minds, but their bodies…”  
“And you? Are you affected?”  
Solas frowned. “I don’t think so, but how would I know?”  
The spirit seemed troubled, gliding repeatedly from one side of the room to another. “I will monitor any changes. Thus far, you seem untouched. If you are, indeed, unaffected, then we can assume it takes either longer exposure or more than the scrape you got from the infected wolf to spread.”

Solas reached for a scroll to begin writing. “So where do we start?” he asked.  
“Think back on the other healers you’ve observed,” instructed Wisdom. “The antidote is usually in the poison itself.”

They had a week before Mythal’s forces returned, carrying a senseless Andruil and their own wounded mistress. Solas was free of infection, but he was careful to never sleep with the crystal shards nearby. Their hum was subtle, but it was growing and he knew he was risking both himself and Wisdom by studying them at all. Mythal sent for him shortly after his return and Solas hurried to meet her, convinced he was about to receive his freedom.

“You were the messenger, were you not?” Mythal asked him, before he’d even had a chance to bow before her throne.  
“Yes,” he answered, his heart pounding in anticipation of his reward.  
“My general tells me you failed to join the battle after delivering my summons to Andruil.”  
“A-apologies,” he stammered, uncertain what his choice would cost him, “The taint in her lands appeared serious. I was studying it to see if it could be reversed.” He left Wisdom’s participation out, hoping to shield his friend. But Mythal looked pleased, if startled. She leaned forward and stared at him.  
“A soldier who seeks freedom and studies healing?” she asked. “You are unusual. Do you wish to be moved to a research position? I can arrange that.”

His face fell into an angry frown. “No. I wish to be _free_. You said if I took the message—”  
“I said we would speak again,” she interrupted and her eyes flashed as she quickly rose. She winced in pain and bent. He took a step forward and her guards drew their weapons. He retreated as her personal healer arrived. “Since you are our only expert,” she gasped as the healer probed her side, “You will find the cure for Andruil.” She waved the healer away and pulled a bandage from her side, exposing a blackening wound. “And a cure for me,” she sighed.

He was horrified to see the twisting gray veins spreading across her stomach and disappearing beneath the blue silk of her dress. “May I— examine the wound?” he said, his mouth suddenly dry. She nodded her assent and the guards stepped back, sheathing their weapons again. “What made the wound?” he asked gently probing it, though he feared he knew the answer.  
“Andruil’s spear. It pierced even my scales.”  
He nodded. “The spear and Andruil’s armor— where are they now?”  
Her glance was suspicious. “Under heavy guard in the treasury until Andruil recovers her senses.”  
He shook his head. “You must send it away. Destroy it. Bury it. Hide it where no one will ever find it. Then you must find a way to clear her lands. The red crystals carry the sickness. I have found that much already.”  
“Will removing them cure it?”  
“I am uncertain. But it will at least halt the spread. I don’t know where she obtained them, but no more must be brought to Elvhenan.”  
“She raves about the spear. She says it increases her power beyond imagining.”  
Solas stood up, level with Mythal. He met her eye without flinching. “Her lands are blighted. All living things within her borders sicken and die. The water is poison and the ground is an empty waste. She is more powerful, yes, but she is mad. That is the price of such power.”

She gripped his arm and he was shocked to see the bright glitter of tears in her eyes. “She is my _child_ , Solas. You must find a way to reverse it.” She let go and gently pushed him back a step. “Find a cure, and you will have your freedom.”  
He shook his head. “I have already performed a great service for you. More than one. Give me my freedom now, and I will strive to find a cure with a good will.”  
“No.” Her voice was flat, uncompromising. “If I give you your freedom now, you will be answerable to none. You will run and I will lose precious time.”  
“This disease threatens us all. I want to help the People not abandon—”  
“I have made my decision.” She waved a hand to her guards. “Go with him to gather his materials. He will be confined to Andruil’s apartments until she is well.”  
“No!” he cried, but the guards forced him away. There was no time to leave a message for Wisdom in his little hut, and the guards, disgusted by the wolf’s head, refused to let him take it. The spell preserving it would wear off while he was gone.

The apartments were opulent, even his small quarters within them a far cry from the spartan emptiness of his hut, but it was no more than a luxurious prison. Andruil was bound and guarded to prevent her from harming herself. When she saw him enter, she writhed with fury and spat at him, trying to claw her way through her bindings. The irony did not escape him, but he was too depressed to feel much victory in their altered roles. He ignored her, ignored his task for a few days.

Wisdom found him trying to sear the vallaslin from his face. Solas roared with pain as his flesh blistered, but Mythal’s brand did not fade.  
“You cannot steal your freedom, Solas,” the spirit chided.  
“It is not _I_ who steals,” he hissed. “I am simply taking back what was stolen from _me_.”  
“I was not suggesting that you be passive. And others, who come after, may well force the Evanuris to free them. But you are the first. No one will believe you are free unless it is declared. And if they do not believe you are free, they will treat you as a slave. All of them. And you will only be free in your own mind. Which is where you are now, except with fewer burns.”  
“Andruil does not deserve a cure,” he snapped. “She brought this on herself.”  
“No,” said Wisdom, its calming voice influencing Solas’s mood for the better, “She does not deserve it. But the People do. And the infected spirits and beasts. They are not responsible for the suffering she brought upon them.”  
Solas sighed and cooled his face with a healing spell.  
“Are you ready to return to work?” asked the spirit.

Andruil’s madness slowly faded once the armor and spear were removed, but her malice for him remained and Solas grew adept at working through the abuse she commonly threw at him and shielding himself from her actual attacks. They were locked in the apartments together for a year before Solas discovered a way to push back and slow the taint to a crawl. Even Wisdom was unable to find a cure. It was too late for Andruil’s people. Mythal’s forces had forced them deep into the infected body of a titan. Mythal never revealed if the titan was where Andruil had discovered the crystals or if it had been infected through contact with her lands, but it crawled with taint. The titan was slain and the exits collapsed, burying Andruil’s people along with her weapon and armor where they could never be unearthed. Or so Mythal assumed. But the infection was spreading to her own troops, and Solas’s discovery was hailed as miraculous.

“It will emerge again, in time,” he said as he supervised Mythal’s treatment. Andruil stood silently by her mother, staring at him venomously.  
“How long?” asked Mythal.  
“Several decades. Perhaps a century. It has bought us time to find a real answer.”  
“Us?”  
“I have been aided by a spirit of wisdom,” he admitted.  
“You were able to bind a spirit into your service?”  
“I bound nothing,” he snapped. “I am the only one under a compulsion. It helped willingly, as I would have, if you had done justice by me and freed me as you agreed.” He knew the jab had hit home because Mythal sprang from her throne. He decided to risk pressing it. “The People appeal to you for fair judgment. For mercy and protection from abuse. Yet your own servants suffer injustice and lifelong hardship because of your whims.”

Andruil sneered. “Will you let a slave speak to you in this manner?” she asked her mother. “This man is not Elvhen, he’s less than a slave. He is a harrellan—”  
“I have betrayed no one. I delivered you to Mythal so that your madness could be halted without harming you. I restored you to sanity and health though you constantly threatened and attacked myself and the spirit that helped me. I have only ever done you good—”  
Andruil raised her hand and he felt the pulse of magic gathering around him. Too late for a barrier. He fade stepped out of the way as a massive stone fell from the ceiling to where he’d been standing.  
“I warn you,” he said calmly, “I will not allow you to kill me.”  
Andruil scoffed. “Who are you to ‘allow’ anything?” A massive statue hurtled end over end toward him. He slipped through it reaching with his magic at the same time and stripping Andruil away from the fade. She crumpled and Mythal ran to aid her.  
“What have you done?” she asked.  
“I— I am uncertain. I only wanted to disarm her.” He rubbed his fingers together as if testing their reality.  
“Undo it,” she ordered.  
“I don’t know how.” His breath was a jagged shard of glass scraping his chest.

“Be calm Solas,” said a voice behind him. He turned and saw Wisdom watching. “Clear your mind. Remember, the antidote is often in the poison.”  
He closed his eyes, remembering his actions, reversing them. He let Andruil melt back into her magic and she sucked energy from the Fade as if it were breath and she was drowning.  
“Leave us,” commanded Mythal.  
Solas could do nothing except obey.

She found him later, coming alone to his hut. The one roomed building was empty except for his bed which the mice had eaten while he was gone, and the dry, clean skull of Andruil’s wolf. The air and bugs had done their work after his preservation spell wore off. It sat in the corner, staring at him. He looked up as the door swung wide, expecting armed guards, but Mythal stood there instead.

“You didn’t tell me you were a Dreamer,” she said, closing the door behind her.  
“I would have been killed,” he said flatly.  
“Only if you caused trouble,” she said evenly.  
“I _intend_ to cause trouble.” He glared at her. There was no one to slap him here. But she just smiled.  
“If by 'trouble' you mean free others, then you have nothing to fear from me. Though I can’t answer for the others. Still, a Dreamer is not easy to vanquish. That is why so many were banished.” Her smile faded and she became pensive. “And why this war never ends.”

She stooped to lift the wolf skull from the ground. “You are not the first to ask for freedom. But you are the only one to declare you will use yours to help others and who has the power to fulfill that promise. I have waited centuries for someone like you, Solas. I have done my best to protect the People, to keep them from the worst that the other Evanuris could do. But even _I_ cannot openly oppose the others alone, not to that extent. I need an ally. And the People need a safe haven.”  
“We would only be two against many,” said Solas.  
Mythal laughed. “This morning, you were one against all. At least your odds are improving. Mine as well. You have Wisdom on your side. That is not nothing. And we have pushed back the plague, your treatment has stalled the infection in those already affected. But it will return. The Banished Ones are quiet, for now, and peace has lasted for many years. There is no better time to move. No distractions, no excuses, no delays to hide behind. The push for freedom _must_ start now. It is time to remind the Evanuris that they, too, are elves. Or else I fear that when the plague returns, they will continue to ignore it, and fight their pointless battles against each other, squandering the lives of the People. Elvhenan will fail. And all this world will come to ruin and decay.”

“What are you proposing?” he asked.  
“I am _offering_ my friendship. A place to retreat if you are in trouble. As an equal. I am asking you to honor your own words and the equality of all the others who do not yet have the courage to take back what is theirs. They already whisper about you. Much has happened in the time you were at work on a cure. The other Evanuris mock you, mock Andruil. They call you Fen’harel, perhaps because of this.” She handed the skull to him and he scowled at it. “But the People— the name fills their mouths with awe. I have heard tales of what you did that are almost unrecognizable in their embellishment. They _believe_ in you. They begin to believe in themselves. When you leave, I hope you will not crush them.”  
“You are giving me my freedom?”  
“I am returning what we stole. It was never mine to give or withhold.”

He raised a hand to his branded cheek. “And this?”  
“I will teach you how to erase it. And you will teach others.” She raised her hands and his skin tingled. Wisdom was drawn by the energy, appearing behind Mythal and watching in silent curiosity. “Henceforth, I will raise no hand against you, cousin, nor allow another to harm you without repercussion. You are forever welcome within my borders, Dread Wolf.”  
Solas hesitated.  
“It is a heavy oath,” observed Wisdom.  
“One that is long overdue,” said Mythal.  
Solas took a deep breath and clasped her right arm. “Henceforth, I will raise no hand against you, cousin, nor allow another to harm you without repercussion,” he repeated.

He felt a rustle, a shift around him as he let the memory dissolve. The shadow of a book fluttered on a nearby table. He waited in the silent library. But Wisdom did not appear. He did not know if he was helping or just squandering his time. For the moment, he did not care. The memories comforted him.  
But not the next. It was loss and panic and disaster. The spirit had been the only thing that kept him sane. It could have been worse, so much worse, had Wisdom not been the calm, reasoning voice that haunted him during the darkest days of his long life.

He was a half a world away when it happened. Elves flocked to him as the war resumed and he had welcomed them into his mountain home. But he had been too far and too occupied to know that the war was going badly and the patience of the Evanuris was waning. While peace had reigned, they’d ignored the flight of a few thousand slaves. They had mocked him, considered him a nuisance at best. Mythal had protected him from the few times they had tried to seriously harm him, upset that he dared claim equality with them. But pressed and forced to fight in a war they had no hand in, the People were growing bold. They left in droves, openly defying the law, and the Evanuris began to take notice. Their forces dwindled and they became desperate. All but Mythal’s own elves. She had freed them long ago, a bare few months after him, but most had stayed. They had made his name a byword, a magic key, ferrying others to him over her own land and through the eluvian.

Wisdom had been the one to bring him the news. The memory was pristine. Crisp and definite and unwavering. Unsoftened. He had been testing a new technique on one of the tainted eluvians, trying to restore it. He paced in front of it, thinking. He was two centuries older than he’d been the night Mythal had erased the vallaslin, but the scar from his earlier attempt remained. He’d kept the wolf skull, half in defiance of the mockery, half as a symbol for others who hoped. Most of it was gone by then, flaked away until only the dense bottom jaw remained. It wasn’t an act of defiance anymore. It reminded him of his oath, instead, to Mythal, and to the People.  
He had smiled when Wisdom appeared, happy to see his friend. But the bright feeling had withered as the spirit spoke.

It spoke without illusion, without any gentle deception or stalling to soften the blow. “I bring dire news, Solas. Mythal is slain.”  
The pain was sharp and piercing, undimmed by all the years since. He had been staggered, uncertain what to say, what to feel, except deep and terrible loss. He had nothing to compare it to. The spirit watched, waiting for him to be ready for the darker news it still had left to impart.  
“Tell me,” he said at last.  
“The war goes poorly for the Evanuris. They begin to turn on one another as well as the Forgotten Ones. Andruil told them of the spear. Mythal took the knowledge of the path from her, but the memory of the crystals themselves was too large, touched too many things. They wanted it. All of them. And more. They wanted the power of the crystals. She told Elgar’nan that Mythal held the secret to its location and he led them to her temple.”

“Why did she not call for aid?” cried Solas, “We would have come. We could have protected the temple together.”  
“No, my friend, you could not. The Evanuris stormed it, throwing all their power and remaining forces into the endeavor. She had little time, and when she saw their numbers, refused to let me find you. She wanted to protect you. The doors were thrown open in less than an hour. She met them there, pretending to welcome them. She offered them hospitality, but they declined. Elgar’nan tried to put on a polite face, but Andruil demanded the location of the spear, and Mythal refused. She tried to reason with them, tried to explain what damage the crystals caused, but they didn’t heed her. Their longing for more power made them desperate and brutal. She would not give up the secret, though they stretched her pain out hour upon hour. Falon’din began killing her people, and I expected her to break for love of them. But she did not. The plague is a worse death than anything the Evanuris could think up. But her body was not as strong as her will. She died at last, without speaking. The Evanuris did not even pause to mourn. They are coming here, Solas. Andruil told them that you would know.”  
“Did none of them protest? Did no one try to aid her?”  
“Her people did. Priests and warriors and mothers. Some fought. Some used their bodies as shields, because that was all they could do. The Evanuris did not care. The people are mere beasts to them, objects to be used and discarded. Andruil had whipped them into a frenzy. They were beyond hesitation or question.”  
“They have gone too far,” he said, pulling his staff from where it hung on the wall.  
“You cannot fight them. Even Mythal could not endure—”  
“Then I will find them in the Fade as they sleep.” His fist tightened around the weapon, nails digging scars into the wood.  
The spirit shook its head. “They are not unprepared for that. The Evanuris have had centuries to build their power, Solas. You are still young. Even with your focus, you will be no match for them in battle. Without Mythal, you are vulnerable. That you still live is a temporary grace. They believe you know where the spear is. You must make them continue to believe it.”  
“I cannot let Mythal’s torture and death go unanswered! I swore to aid her.”  
“As long as the Fade continues to feed them, you are overmatched.”  
“Then I will rip them from the Fade, as I did with Andruil. All of them. They must be stopped, and it must be now.”  
“You are angry and filled with sorrow. Take time to reflect—”  
“There is _no_ time, Wisdom. The eluvian may be shut against them, but they are still coming. All of the elves here have fled former masters. All of them are in danger. I do not know where Mythal hid the spear, but one day the Evanuris will figure it out. Or they’ll find a way back to the place it came from. Or something worse. Their need for power knows no limits— if they would slay the best of their own, then what do they care for _us_? It cannot continue. They must be torn down and never allowed to rise again.”

He knew he could not do it alone. He called the elves that had joined him, asked them for the first time to aid him. They did not hesitate. Even with hundreds of people constructing the large stone globes, and pouring power into them, it was still almost too late. The Evanuris were nearing the gates as the last teams of elves pulled the amplifiers through the eluvians and hastened to scatter them over the landscape. He never saw any of them again, but the Inquisitor would find and activate dozens of remaining amplifiers that had run down a millennium later. It was a touch of home whenever she set one spinning and glowing with power again.  
He was alone in the temple when they arrived. Wisdom had gone to warn any of the People that would listen. He could not even estimate how many the spirit had saved when his spell was done. He stood in the courtyard as Elgar’nan led the Evanuris across the stone bridge. The army behind them was vast. The spirit had been right. The people Solas protected would have been overrun and returned to their owners or killed within moments.  
He let them filter in, surround him, packed tightly into the large square, the Evanuris in front of him and armed warriors pressing in from all sides. When at last they stood silent, he said calmly, “You are not welcome here. You should leave.”

It was Sylaise who answered him. Sylaise, whom the Dalish praised and hailed as the Goddess of Peace. But her flames had consumed more than one slave and her ambition was unmatched, even by Falon’din. Her subtlety had made her deadly. But she didn’t think him worthy of a mask. “It is not for you, _slave_ , to dictate where we are welcome. Surrender to your betters and your death will be easier than the one your mistress suffered.”  
He thought he had prepared himself, he had expected insult. Violence. Humiliation. But the gloating over Mythal’s murder was too much. He struggled and failed to keep the veneer of calm in place.

“My only _better_ was the woman you brutalized. And for what? What did Mythal ever do but advocate reason and generosity? You think it is I that is vulnerable because she is gone. That Mythal was my shield and you have battered it down.” His eyes flashed and he could feel the rumble of power beneath his fingertips, growing like a tide. “You are _wrong_. Mythal was not _my_ shield, she was _yours_. It was her affection for you, her kin, her daughters and sons and _husband_ , that stayed my hand. There are no slaves here. These are the lands of the free Elvhen and never again shall we submit.” He let his voice die to his former flat calm. “But once more, for the love of her whom you slaughtered, I bid you leave and do not return.”

“Or what, Fen’harel?” hissed Andruil. “You snarl and bark like the cur that you are, but your teeth are blunt. You are weak and I will enjoy making you crawl on your belly.”  
“Come, Solas,” said Dirthamen, “Tell us where the red spear is and we will leave you and your people in peace.” Andruil whirled to glare at her brother, but he did not react.  
“You do not know what you ask. Tell them, Andruil. Tell them what happened to your land, your people. Tell them what happened to your mind when you brought back the tainted crystals.”  
“I have. It was power incomparable to what I’d known before. What any of us had known. It is stifling to be so limited.”

Ghilan’nain put a hand on her wife’s shoulder and Andruil stepped back. “Solas,” said Ghilan’nain, “We are similar, lethallin. We both know the suffering of the People during this eternal war. Our families, our friends have paid the price of the Forgotten Ones’ aggression. The red spear can help us end it, forever. With the power of the crystals, we can overcome the Forgotten ones and give the People peace at last.”  
“If you would truly end the People’s suffering, then abandon your search for this spear. It spreads a terrible plague and madness. Mythal and her warriors spent decades pushing back the infection just in Andruil’s land alone. Many lives were sacrificed to contain it. If you release it now, we will be overrun. Nothing will stop it.” He pleaded with Ghilan’nain. He knew it was just a ploy, a feint to get him to tell her the secret, but he grabbed the kernel of truth in her attempt. She _had_ been where he had. She _had_ known the plight of the people under the Evanuris. But she looked away, ashamed, and he knew he was again, truly one against all.  
“Enough talk,” said Elgar’nan, and soldiers grabbed Solas.

“Do not follow them,” he said in a low voice, “resist. They will lead us all to ruin. Fight back, and I will aid you.”  
But the soldiers were stony faced, unhearing or unbelieving and he was unwilling to harm them in a futile battle.  
The torture came next, as he’d known it would, as he’d prepared for. He allowed them all to get their blows in, to expend their energy on trying to extract something he did not know. He had to let them think they’d won, had to convince them he was truly beaten.

“Peace!” he cried, when he thought he could not last another moment, after Andruil’s venom and the blistering flames of Sylaise, the wracking drain of June’s inventions and the agonizing chill of Falon’din and Dirthamen. Only after the flaying wrath of Elgar’nan, whom the Inquisitor would so innocently attribute beauty and love to, only after all of it; “Peace! I will bring you to the spear. Void take you, I will bring you to the armor you bought with blood, and the pulsing, maddening crystals. You can have them all. Just stop. Just leave me be.”  
Their greed blinded them and they followed him as he limped through one eluvian after the next. He led them deep into the ancient forest, to where his forces had brought the tainted eluvian, in the heart of a tomb, though the Evanuris did not know it. Solas collapsed to his knees in front of the mirror.

“There,” he said, pointing. “There is your _treasure_.” He spat before Andruil’s feet and she kicked him. Dirthamen eyed the eluvian. But about this, Solas was not lying. He was uncertain whether Mythal had missed this entrance when she sealed the thaig, or if the corruption had spread until it reached this mirror, but the red lyrium was clearly visible through the portal. What the Evanuris did not realize was that this was the only way in or out. He held his breath as they walked through, one after another. He had been unsure what they would do to him, in the end. He’d expected to have to push Andruil through or trap himself in with them. But for once, his luck held. They were all too enthralled with the vision in the mirror to even remember he was there. He was invisible. Another slave in their minds.  
He wasted no time once they were through, sealing the eluvian behind them. It would take them a few moments to notice, they would be concentrating on the thaig, digging out treasure, flexing their enhanced power.

He slid into the Fade and found Wisdom pacing in its library.  
“Is everything prepared?” he asked.  
“The last amplifier was placed and activated a few moments ago. I have warned the spirits and people that I could. Solas— are you certain this is the only way?”  
Solas sighed. “I have found no other way. There will not be a second chance. It’s this— or utter destruction.” He paused and reached out a hand to the spirit. “I do not know what will happen.”  
Wisdom clasped his arm. “Farewell my friend,” it said.

He left the Fade, stumbling back through the eluvians to his mountain, closing each mirror behind him. The spell was simple, but he was racing to finish before the Evanuris realized they were trapped. He felt a pulse as it left him and then— nothing. No pull, no tingle, no crackle beneath his skin. He was uncertain whether it had worked until the distant sonallium tumbled from view. The library next, a rending crack that shook the air even from miles away. It slid and then collapsed, island crumbling as the Veil spread across Elvhenan. Solas turned away. His heart and his body were broken. He was not proud of what he had done. There was no joy, no triumph in it, only loss. He limped back to the eluvian, passing through it once more, to the tomb where Mythal lay. Arlathan was burning. Screams in the streets echoed through the pale marble chamber. He shut his ears. There would be no pristine bed for him. He lay instead on the cold stone near the dead woman’s feet. And he went to sleep. Pushing through to the Fade was difficult, and he found even that had fallen into chaos. Wisdom found him, and together they completed the last seal on the Evanuris and on the Forgotten Ones, so that they could not enter as Solas had. And then it was done. They grieved together, until Wisdom urged him to return to the waking world.

“The People will need you,” it said, “They have no one to turn to, no one to lead them.”  
But Solas refused. “The People are capable of leading themselves. They do not need another Evanuris.”  
“No, but they need Fen’harel.”  
“Let someone else be Fen’harel now. I will just be me. I am broken, Wisdom, in more than just my will. There is nothing left for me. Allow me to stay. Allow me to be here and let that existence fade away.”  
The spirit did not press, and Solas did not wake up.

It tried again when the Tevinter mages broke Mythal’s fading seal, when the corruption seeped out again, spreading again over what had been Andruil’s land. “You must wake,” Wisdom told him, “The plague spreads again. Soon it will reach the borders and spill into the living lands.”

But Solas again refused. “I have no answer. I have no cure. And my army is long dispersed. There is nothing I can do.”  
And Wisdom let it be, gently prodding him only at the outbreak of each Blight. Until Kirkwall fell to the madness of the red lyrium. The spirit pulled him from his wanderings in ancient memories and made him face what his world had become. How the People had fallen. And where it had discovered Mythal, again alive and struggling to right what had gone so terribly wrong. “You swore to aid her. I witnessed your oath,” implored Wisdom. And Solas was shamed into waking at last.

He released the memory and something swirled around him. The intention had been set, the wish planted. It would wrap the Fade around it, growing like an oyster’s pearl until another spirit formed. He wished it well, but his friend was gone. For the first time, this side of the Veil was empty. Lonely. He realized there was only one place he wanted to be. Only one people he wanted to belong to. The Inquisition. It was time to return home.


	21. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdYWuo9OFAw

His feet wanted to speed up, wanted to fly the last mile home. He forced them into their normal pace. Remembering the terror in the Inquisitor’s face as he reached through her barrier, he became solemn and his eagerness faded. Spring had reached the mountain while he was gone and a thick bank of clouds hung over Skyhold, promising a thunderstorm before he reached it.

She was sitting next to the stone cairn where she’d first seen the fortress, her back to him. She was lost in thought and did not hear him. He wanted to sit down beside her, as if nothing had happened. As if he’d just been gone a moment or two. But he didn’t want to see fear in her face again. Not because of him.

“Inquisitor, what are you doing out here?” he asked.  
She jumped and turned to look at him. The smile that crept across her face made him forget that he was ever reluctant to return. No one had ever been as openly happy to see him. “Escaping,” she said.  
He nodded and sat beside her, looking at the people below in the fortress.

He could feel her watching him, but he was uncertain how to begin. The sweet, green scent of crushed grass filled the space between them and it felt as if the very day were pulling him back, away from his dreams of ash and ruin. He wanted to stay. He wanted to let her pull him completely free of his memories, to envelop him in her world. To draw his measure of joy in his long, long life.

“I’m sorry, Solas.” She said it low and soft, as if she were afraid they were the wrong words.  
“You did everything you could. There is nothing to apologize for.”  
“It isn’t only that— I’m sorry your friend is gone. I’m sorry you are in pain. I’m sorry I pushed you away, made you feel you had to be alone when you needed someone most.”  
“You were frightened.”  
“I was _wrong_.”  
_No, you weren’t_ , he thought.

They were silent for a moment. The breeze rustled the tree beside him, flipping its new leaves green to silver and back, a subtle warning of the impending storm. “Is Cole—” he trailed off, uncertain what he meant to ask.  
“He is grieving. And worried for you. But he is— his usual self.”  
He nodded and she let them slide back into silence.  
“If there’s anything—”  
“There is not, Inquisitor,” he interrupted, mostly to stop his own thoughts from crying out for her, for anyone. “You have done more than I dared to ask for.”  
A distant growl of thunder echoed off of the mountain, but Lavellan made no move to go. She sat quietly, watching the ravens float over Skyhold, waiting.

The pressure built in him, a mirror of the piling clouds. He’d thought he was beyond it, that he’d seen too much and lived too long and grief was just the smack of a dull mace instead of a piercing blade. That the Veil had dimmed his emotion too. The sudden loneliness overwhelmed him. Frightened him. He felt as if he were slipping off the edge of the world and he reached for her hand, as if it could save him. She turned toward him at the warmth of his palm and was startled.  
“Solas—”  
“It _hurts_ ,” he offered, and shook with the force of a long-suppressed sob.

And then her arms were around him, sweeping the last shred of his control away. She didn’t try to soothe or calm, didn’t hush or mutter threadbare comforts, she just let him cry as she held him. He wept for Wisdom, but also for Mythal, for the People, for what was lost, even for the Evanuris themselves. And he wept for himself, and for the way he might have been. And for _her_ , for _her_ , because she was already slipping away.

A shard of lightning stabbed Skyhold’s tower and a crack of thunder shook the air around them. He felt her tense around him, but she didn’t pull away, only moving to cradle his head with a warm hand as the soft patter of icy rain fell around them. He ceased at last, falling into a calm peace with a few lingering, shuddering breaths. He clung to her, unwilling to draw away, to break the stillness.

The rain had saturated their clothing, running in chilled streams down his back and dripping from her braid. He watched a drop slide down the length of her ear, trembling and glittering before it dropped to her shoulder. He shifted and traced its path down her collarbone and to the edge of the ridged scar where Wisdom had lashed her during the battle. He pressed a thumb to it, sweeping away the raindrop.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t serious,” she said quietly, noticing where he had focused. He pulled the shirt gently away from her shoulder, running his finger across the dark slash, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to it. A shiver ran through her, rippling under his arm where he held her, but she neither pulled away nor encouraged him. He twisted to tug gently on her marked hand, folding her arm between them. Her wrist still clicked where it had been broken, a small, hard lump beneath the skin where the shattered bones had fused together again. He found it, kissed it, let his lips trail over her palm before pressing them into the jagged light of the anchor.  
“Solas—” a note of hesitance crept into her voice, but he ignored it.  
Her arm crushed against his chest as he kissed the spot near her eye, the scratch from the dragon completely gone now.  
“Sol—”  
He covered her mouth with his own, but she twisted her hand where it was pinned and pushed him gently away. “Ir abelas,” he murmured, the heat in his cheeks burning the damp of the rain away. She held his face, tilting it up.  
“Tel’abelas. I _love_ you. I love you and I can’t let you do this. Not now, not like this. This is sorrow, need. Not love. I am here, Solas. I will be here when you are ready. But I do not want to be a regret.” She pulled him in again, sliding her arms around his back. “Come home,” she pleaded, “Come home with me.”

He nodded into her neck and let her go with a sigh. She led him through the rain, unhurried, though it was cold, over the bridge, her hand still in his, uncaring if the bored guard noticed or not. He tried to turn aside, climb the stairs to the causeway, heading for his quarters, but she shook her head and pulled him toward the keep. “The apartments are cold,” she said.  
“Please, Inquisitor, Varric is a valued friend, but I cannot stand to be interrogated today, even for the warmth of the fireplace.”  
“They are all playing cards in the tavern. No one will disturb you.”

He let her pull him inside and the warmth from the nearby fire immediately soaked into him. She was right, the throne room was empty. Not even a guard slumped against a wall. He was wrung out, exhausted. He wanted to sink into the first available chair, but she wouldn’t let him.  
“Just one more stair,” she said, “I know you’re tired.”  
He followed her numbly, too worn to protest even as they entered her private quarters.

The rain was a distant roar, like surf. He lowered himself to the rug as she piled wood onto the hearth and lit a small blaze. The Inquisitor padded around him, rustling cloth, shifting papers on the desk, a quiet presence nearby. He passed into a shallow doze, waking only for a moment as she folded a blanket over him.  
The smell of warm bread pulled him back to the surface, and he woke to find the first glow of the sun cresting the mountains. Cole was sitting on the Inquisitor’s desk,kicking his legs and feeding crumbs to a mouse perched on his arm.

Solas sat up, disoriented. “Cole? Where is the Inquisitor?”  
“She fell asleep watching stars.” The boy handed him a set of dry clothes. “She said you’d need these. And this.” He pointed to the tray of food on the desk.  
“Thank you.” He peeled off his damp clothes and exchanged them for ones still warm from the last of the fire. “I’m sorry that I frightened you,” he said.  
“You changed. Like Wisdom. You were so angry.”  
“I know. But I changed back.”  
“Will it be like that every time?”  
“No, Cole. There will be a day that I can’t change back.”  
“You mean when the Inquisitor dies.”

He did not answer, carefully folding the blanket she had wrapped around him and placing it on the couch.  
“When did you get back?” Solas asked instead, desperate to think of something, anything else.  
“Yesterday morning. We stayed to help. There were many rifts. And soldiers who hid from their dead friends. A clan that limps along the edge, waiting for a word that will never come.”  
“You met a Dalish clan?” He sat down at the desk to eat, hungrier than he had realized. It had been several days since he had been able to have a full meal.  
“Yes. There is a boy who wants to die for her.”  
“The Inquisitor?”  
“Yes. The others are suspicious, hesitant. They _want_ to believe. But he _does_. The others want to prove a past that never was. They think nothing will ever match their legends. He thinks she might.”  
“Does she know?”  
Cole shook his head. “If she knew, she’d tell him they don’t need her. She’d make him stay. But he does, he needs the Inquisition. Without it he was suffocating, buried in grave dirt, pinned by the weight of never-was. But if she is free, then he can be too. He wishes, now, he had chosen the brand she wears instead of his own.”

Solas’s skin crawled. A boy wanted to copy her vallaslin? Cycle after cycle, worse and ever worse. They repeated their mistakes, ripples, decaying echoes of what had gone wrong in the first place. Their very mortality almost guaranteed it. It had to end, there had to be a limit. But it somehow never did.  
“She is not like them,” said Cole. “Not even like Mythal. She will stop the echo.”  
“For how long? A year? A Decade? And then she will be gone, and everything will resume as it was.” He tossed the rest of his roll back onto the tray, disgusted.

Cole carefully handed him the mouse and then jumped down from the desk. He picked up a heavy stone wash basin and set it with a thunk down next to Solas. Then he poured a large jug of water into it, carefully, without splashing.  
“What are you doing?” asked the mage.  
“Watch.” Cole stared at the water until it was perfectly still. He grabbed one of Solas’s hands and dunked it in the water.  
“What—”  
“Stir,” the boy commanded. Solas sighed but slowly stirred the center of the water and the slow pulse of a wave traveled from his finger to the edge of the bowl. Cole reached into his pocket, pulling out an odd assortment of items. He picked a pebble from among them and dropped it into the basin. “You see?” He pointed at the subtle rings the rock had made, crashing into his own, reshaping the waves. “Some ripples change all the others. Forever.” He pulled the mouse gently back, cradling it to his chest.

Solas wiped his hand dry on a towel. “Was the demonstration really necessary?”  
Cole shrugged. “You’re very stubborn. You still don’t believe me, but you have already altered because of her. Like Wisdom, but not. Better. Pulled back toward your true self. She’s bound you, but you wanted her to. Yesterday was the day.”  
“What day?”  
“The day that you couldn’t change back. She’s changed you forever. Why not everything?” The boy walked down the stairs whispering to the mouse. “The others will be awake soon,” he called back up the stairs and then slipped out of the Inquisitor’s quarters.


	22. Inches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N_8iRmM4JM

He had wanted to speak with her alone, before he had to plunge back into the company of others, but he found the rotunda already empty and quiet. He tried to smother his disappointment, knowing it was unreasonable. Before long, he ventured into Josephine’s office to check on some documents he’d requested, but it, too, was empty. Commander Cullen’s voice rang down the hallway from the war room.

  
“It’s one _bloody_ crown! It goes on _one_ head. Only a single person can reign at a time. You have to pick!”  
Curious, Solas walked toward the large doors. He was startled to hear the Inquisitor shouting as well.  
“If only one person can reign, why am I always battling every one of you at every turn?”  
He’d never heard her yell before, not in anger. It concerned him and he pulled the door open.  
“Maker’s _breath_ , Inquisitor. You cannot save every one. Someone has to fall so the other can rule in peace and the civil war can finally end.” Cullen was leaning over the massive table facing the Inquisitor.  
“But it _won’t_ end. We’ll end up making a martyr of one of them and there will be reprisals—”

Vivienne frowned. “We are not talking about the Free Marches, my dear. Blood feuds are so gauche. This is chess not nine-pins. Remove either the Empress or the Duke and the game is won. Orlesians aren’t _savages_.”  
The Inquisitor folded her arms and bit back a reply. Solas recognized the gesture. She was struggling to maintain a calm front.  
“Look, Boss, keeping them both alive is what started the war in the first place,” said Iron Bull. “Even if you get them to work together for a while, it won’t last. If you want to stop Redcliffe from happening, you have to choose.”  
“It’s not like either one of them are exactly saints,” offered Varric.  
“Neither are any of us,” muttered the Inquisitor.

“It isn’t your blade, Inquisitor.”  
“You are asking me to aim it, Leliana.” She turned to Cassandra. “Aren’t you going to help me, Cassandra? I can’t believe that _you_ think murder is the Maker’s will.”  
“I do not. But I also think this discussion will be useless until we discover who is behind the attempt. Arguing about it will not alter the outcome.”  
“Perhaps we should adjourn, for now,” suggested Josephine.  
“Finally,” Sera said, hopping down from her perch on a squat bookcase and headed for the door. “Starving.” The others filtered out behind her.

Vivienne lagged behind, pausing to pluck an invisible speck from the Inquisitor’s robe. “Darling, you needn’t be ashamed. It isn’t your fault you were raised so— simply. I will be happy to instruct you on the essentials of the Grand Game before the peace talks.”  
“Thank you, Madame,” said the Inquisitor with a slight bow of her head, “but I assure you, I am well acquainted with the Game. It was, after all, the elves that taught the rules to the Orlesians.”  
Solas coughed to cover a surprised grin.  
Vivienne flashed a saccharine smile. “Of course, my dear. You will let me know if you need a refresher? It’s been, what? A few centuries since the Dalish decided Arlathan’s climate didn’t suit. It’s really shocking how much can change in that time.”  
“Not as much as you might think,” said Lavellan under her breath as Vivienne glided away. Solas laughed.  
“What makes you say that, Inquisitor?”  
“I’ve met a few Keepers that could give her a run for her money.” She sighed and waved a hand at the door. “Forget all that. Cassandra is right, it’s nonsense. How are you doing, Solas? I hoped you would take advantage of the quiet and rest.”  
“I did. And— thank you. I believe I am ready to return to work.”

He picked up a scroll bearing the gilt seal of the Empress Celene. “We are headed to Halamshiral?”  
“The peace talks aren’t for a few weeks, but yes. Josephine was able to get us an invitation when it became clear the Empress is either not getting our warnings or doesn’t believe them.” She paused, running a finger over the painted throne on the map. “Leliana and Cullen suggest that we do nothing. Let events ‘take their natural course’ as Leliana puts it.”  
“And you do not agree.”  
She glanced up at him. “And you do?”  
“I don’t know. I am interested in what _you_ think.”  
“I _think_ that looking the other way is as bad as holding the knife. I think that I hoped the Inquisition would be more than just another band of mercenaries out to complete their goal and nothing else. Corypheus doesn’t care who wins the war, he just wants to take advantage of the chaos. But the rest of us still have to live in the world after he is dealt with. Do we want a woman who slaughtered an entire alienage in order to quell political rumors? Or the man who plunged his entire nation into war in order to gain power?”  
“Running an empire is complicated, lethallan. Even the Inquisition has not been bloodless, and we are much smaller.”  
She sighed. “I know. But in time, perhaps as little as a few months, the world will not need the Inquisition and it will dissolve. The Orlesian Empire will be around for much longer.” She traced the anchor with one finger. “It would not have been my choice to hold this kind of sway over the lives of others. But the expectation is there, whether I would or not. Maybe I am wrong to use it. Maybe Leliana is right, and I should just let whatever happens— happen. But—”  
“But?”  
She blushed and looked away, ashamed. “Isn’t that what makes things as they are? We didn’t return right away, Cole and I. We stayed to help a clan while we waited for the others to catch up. They were in trouble— almost out of resources, and a boy was missing. They’d stayed to bury a clan member, but the site was overrun with demons. And their warriors had gone to investigate a ruin in the Emerald Graves. The missing boy— he died trying to find a relic. They were barely hanging on, sacrificing the needs of today for a world long dead. We cling to these stories of what was, look for any proof— and the world doesn’t care. It goes on, without the Dalish. It changes though we have no hand in it, and we are left behind. Fading, crushed underfoot. We pretend that if we isolate ourselves, if we cast out any elf that wants to deal with outsiders, if we keep repeating and repeating the old ways, that Elvhenan will somehow return. That we are immune to change. But we are not, as you keep reminding me.”

It hurt her, he knew, to expose the faults of the Dalish to him. He was careful not to react, and she continued. “And now— for the first time in centuries, one of us has the chance to _try_ to influence the world for the better. To pull up the people that have been crushed, to show the world that they _are_ people, just the same as the Empress and the nobles that throw their soldiers at one another and burn the homes of their servants. I know the Inquisition is not guiltless. I know that our focus is meant to be Corypheus and safeguarding the Orlesian throne is only a means to that end. But shouldn’t we try to make life better where we can? Not just for elves, for everyone.”  
He looked at her for a long moment. “And should your attempts fail? Or worse, if they should result in a backlash and make life worse for some?”  
“There is risk in every choice. But if we don’t take any action then nothing ever changes. There is always a breaking point. The mages found theirs already. It brought us here. How long will it take for Orlais to reach theirs? The alienages are already brutally crushed whenever they protest poor treatment. And what will happen when the Shemlen finally push the clans to the corners of the map? It will be another war. More death. If we do nothing— if we let things continue down the path they are on— I fear we will be utterly swept away, Solas.”

It felt like an echo, a memory that came from his own thoughts. The feeling made him hard on her, as he would have been on himself. “You think either Celene or Gaspard will care what happens to a few elves? And if they did, that they’d be able to make substantial change? You give the crown entirely too much weight, Inquisitor. It will make no difference which of them you choose. They are consumed with the Game, shuffling nobles and alliances to their advantage. The lives of lesser people are of no concern to either.”  
“Now you sound like Sera,” she smiled, but it was not a taunt.  
“We may not share the same— method of expression, but Sera’s ideals are not so far from either of us. And you know my point is valid.”  
“It is not a large difference, no, not at first. That is not a reason to choose unwisely. We cannot be so focused on Corypheus that we ignore the smaller actions we take in the meantime. They collect, pool like water. If I must move the world by inches, then that is what I will do.”  
He shook his head. “But it must move _miles_ , lethallan, to be better. You will never see it in your lifetime.”  
She flexed her marked hand absently. “My own lifetime seems to lose its importance with each passing day.”  
He touched her arm. “Not to me.”  
The smile returned to her face. “My point is, given enough time, even tiny changes add up. The smallest seed may still crumble stone.”  
He laughed, and it was easy and warm. “That is the most apt description of _you_ I have heard yet, though I do not know if it will be true of the Inquisition itself.”  
“You don’t approve.”  
“Don’t let the opinion of others sway you. It shouldn’t matter what I think.”  
“Yet it does.”  
“Why ask _me_? There are countless others lining up to advise you.”

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers into her temples. “I am aware. They are all too happy to shout their recommendations at me. But you do not offer unless I ask. I am not asking you to take the decision out of my hands, I am only asking for your thoughts. The choice and its consequences will be my own.”  
“My opinion may not please you,” he said, leaning against the war table.  
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear it.”  
“Few people in your position would worry about the consequences of their actions so long as they served the immediate goal. Many would be blinded by panic. Some would assume another would fix their mistakes later. Others would consider the repercussions trivial, unworthy of notice. Someone like you is rare, indeed. I— admire your compassion and thoughtfulness, and if I thought my advice would crush that part of you, nothing would induce me to speak. I know now, you are stronger than that. But the world is resistant to change, and I fear time will erase many of our best efforts. I honestly cannot say whether Celene or Gaspard will be kinder or more just. The difference between them seems only a fraction of a degree. But if we are battling for inches, then it would make sense to cling to every one. If our methods are as important as our results, then we must stop the assassination and accept whatever consequences that entails.”

“‘We’?”  
“I am on your side, Inquisitor. I know what it is to be one against all.” His fingers brushed the back of her hand, seeking, asking. “For the past few days, I thought it would be so again.” Her hand closed around his and he felt the gentle surge of her magic pulling at him again. “That is one sorrow I can prevent from touching you. As long as you need me, I will not abandon you. Even if we are only two against many.”  
She could not know the weight of what he offered, not without knowing how it had originally been offered to him. She could not know it was heavier even than the oath he had taken before. The promise to Mythal was one of friendship, a pale, cool thing compared against the one he made to the Inquisitor. But she did not understand. Not yet. He knew she’d hoped for something else, some acknowledgment of what she had said to him the day before. Some return of her love. But she had been right. She wasn’t a consolation prize. He’d wait until he could tell her the right way.

He cleared his throat and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm with a smile. “Come, lethallan, this has grown too solemn even for me. We can’t settle the Orlesian war today. Would you care to join me for some target practice? My casting is a bit rusty. And I’ve been craving another good dream.”  
If she was disappointed, she hid it well. Her laugh was as light and pretty as ever. “Not this time, Solas,” she said, “I’ve been practicing.”  
He pushed open the war room doors. “Funny, that’s exactly what Blackwall said too.”


	23. Ghilan'nain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p62rfWxs6a8

“Ugh. Of course.” The Seeker’s voice rang through the almost empty tavern. Solas had come to speak with Cole, but the boy wasn’t in his usual haunt. He was about to return to the keep when the Inquisitor’s voice floated up to meet him.  
“What is it?”  
“The saddlebags got soaked. My book is ruined,” said Cassandra.  
“Let me see,” said the Inquisitor.

Solas leaned over the rail. She was carefully peeling the pages apart. “Haven’t you read this half a dozen times by now?”  
“Eight.”  
“Dunno why you like that squidgy love stuff anyway. I peeked. Not enough naughty bits.” Sera picked at her plate with a grimace.  
“You could ask Varric for another copy.” The Inquisitor was still peeling the delicate pages apart.  
The Seeker sighed. “I suppose I _should_ read something else… there are just so few good love stories.”

Solas stepped away from the balcony and headed for the stairs. He wanted to join them, even if it meant enduring Sera’s jabs.  
“What do you mean? You’ve spent most of your life devoted to one of the best love stories.”  
“Me? Varric only finished it a few months ago. And you needn’t speak so loudly, his head is big enough already.”  
Sera snorted. “Not what she meant. It’s Andraste, innit? Fairy story about a girl who loves a god.”  
“It is _not_ a fairy story,” said the Seeker.  
“It isn’t about a girl who loves a god anyway,” said the Inquisitor. “Not really. _That_ story isn’t special. You can find hundreds of girls who love gods. The story is about a god that loves a _girl_. Woman. You know what I mean. Doesn’t happen as often. Though, we have a story like that too.”

He froze, his foot on the top step of the second flight.  
“You do? Tell it, please,” Cassandra leaned in, her chin on one hand.  
“Ew. No. No elfy jabber.”  
The Inquisitor shrugged. “Suit yourself. Thought you’d like this one. Pretty girls and bloody vengeance and rodents causing mayhem but…”  
He smiled, knowing which one she meant to tell. He wished her stories were how it had really been. How much sweeter the world would be.  
“I’d like to hear it, even if Sera doesn’t,” he said, descending the rest of the stairs and sitting across from the Inquisitor.  
“All right. For the rodents, then,” said Sera.

The Inquisitor warmed a page of Cassandra’s book with a gentle spell. “Ghilan’nain was a carver. She followed June first—”  
“Wait, this Ghila-what’s-her-ness, she’s the girl?” interrupted Sera.  
Lavellan laughed. “Yes.”  
“And June was the god?”  
“June was _a_ god, the Dalish god of craftsmen. But not _the_ god, not the one that loved her. She comes later.”  
“ _She_? You have lady gods?”  
“Shh,” scolded Cassandra, waving a hand at Sera. Solas tried to swallow his smile, but the Inquisitor caught sight of it and answered with her own.

“Ghilan’nain’s carvings were so finely detailed and of such quality, that June was persuaded to fashion gears for each and set them turning inside each one, tiny to massive. And Ghilan’nain’s carvings came alive, became all the soaring, gliding birds of the air, all the beasts that creep or hop through the dust, all the silver flashing fish that dart in the rivers. The goddess, Andruil, was well pleased because she was a hunter and delighted in tracking new beasts. But she soon grew bored with Ghilan’nain’s creations, because they were small and delicate, quick to collapse. So Andruil came to June and asked him to make stronger, faster creatures, something that could challenge the goddess in her hunts, because she did not know of Ghilan’nain. June brought Andruil to see the girl, and to make her request.”

_Andruil never requested. Not even of her wife. It was always command,_ he thought, trying hard to forget the Andruil he knew, the one that more often hunted down her own slaves instead of animals.

“Andruil was beautiful and sharp, quick and graceful and deadly. When Ghilan’nain saw her, she was utterly lost. She knew she could never love anyone but the goddess. Ghilan’nain knew her love was hopeless, for no god had ever loved a mortal. What could she ever offer the goddess that could compete with her divine lovers?”  
“Andy-who’zit had other lovers?” Sera perked up.  
“Many, according to legend,” said Solas.  
“Garn!” Sera shoved his shoulder and the Inquisitor laughed.  
“They say that only Fen’harel had the courage and cunning to refuse her and escape unscathed,” she said.

He’d heard that story, shortly after he’d won his freedom. A sly rumor the other Evanuris had spread, a mockery of them both. He did not like that story, though he’d been the victor in it. He wished it had died on their lips as he sealed them away instead of chasing him through the millennia.

“But Ghilan’nain did not want to escape from Andruil,” continued the Inquisitor.  
“So what did she do?” asked Cassandra.  
“When she learned what the goddess wanted, she asked for a year’s time. She swore to make Andruil a quarry worthy of her speed and strength, something as deadly and beautiful as her patroness. Andruil agreed to wait out the year and departed. Ghilan’nain traveled far, far from her home in search of a suitable piece of ironbark, because it is light but as strong as worked metals. She stumbled over thick roots and cut herself on sharp stones and lost her way in the crowded trees. After two months, she found a small branch of ironbark deep in the ancient forest. She returned to her home, thinking of what she should carve. But when she reached her village, she found that her tools were too soft. They bent and shattered but made no bite into the ironbark. She asked June to aid her, and he told her she must go to Mythal, to beg for a blade of silverite, a rare and precious thing, even then. She made her way to Mythal’s great temple, which sat at the edge of the deep salt sea. There, she pleaded with Mythal for the silverite blade, proclaiming her love for Andruil. Mythal was pleased, but she told Ghilan’nain that silverite could be found only in the deepest trench of the sea and granted her safe passage through the waters to search for it. So Ghilan’nain dove into the water, swimming down until the sun could not warm her or light her way. There, she fumbled in the dark with trembling fingers for many days—”

“Seems like a lot of trouble just for a piece of a—”  
“Sera!” snapped Cassandra.  
“Just saying.Hope this Andy-whozit was worth it.”  
The Inquisitor laughed. “She was a goddess, use your imagination.”  
Sera giggled. “Right, get to the good bits then.”

“Ghilan’nain emerged at last into the warmth of the sunlit beach, a small stone of silverite in her fist, all she could find. Mythal had it made into a small carving knife. And the girl returned home. Only a few months remained in the year that Andruil had granted her, and Ghilan’nain still did not know what she should craft. She thought of Andruil’s lithe limbs and soft skin. She did not want the goddess to stumble through the thick forest, bruising her flesh. She would not carve a beast of the earth. She thought of Andruil’s bright, flashing eyes and her slender fingers. She did not want the goddess blinded in the dark of the sea or her bones shivering and frozen in its depths. She would not carve a beast of the waters. The bird took shape in her mind and Ghilan’nain began to carve. She slept little, ate less. Her fingers cramped and grew raw, her eyes watered and stung as she shaped detail after detail. On the night before the time was elapsed, June pressed the gears of its heart into the bird’s chest. Ghilan’nain rejoiced because the hawk was everything she’d intended. Sleek and beautiful, fleet and dangerous. She brought it into Andruil’s sacred glade and released it into the sky with a prayer. No sooner had it circled the small glade, than an arrow pierced its heart and it plummeted to the ground, slain by a heedless hunter.”  
“Ohh!” cried Cassandra.  
“Bollocks!” Sera slammed a fist into the table.

Solas had to admire the Inquisitor’s telling, he’d never imagined a story that would draw three such different people in so completely. Even _he_ had forgotten his discomfort at the familiar names of his ancient foes.  
“Ghilan’nain was crushed and angry. She ran to the hawk to see if it could be saved, but it was beyond repair. She cursed the hunter for his carelessness and the man laughed at her. She prayed to Andruil, asking for forgiveness for not delivering her gift in time and begged the goddess to make her curse upon the man come true. The goddess had watched Ghilan’nain. She’d seen the girl torn and hurting as she searched for the ironbark. She’d seen the girl emerge from the ocean with icy skin to bring up the small pebble of silverite. She’d watched the girl labour hour after hour on the beautiful bird and the sweet joy she’d taken in releasing it, in offering her gift to the goddess. Gratified by her devotion and moved by her efforts, Andruil had fallen in love with Ghilan’nain. So she gave power to Ghilan’nain’s curse and the hunter was unable to ever catch another quarry. Ghilan’nain did not see, though. She did not stop to rest, but resumed her search for another piece of ironbark. The hunter, when he realized what had happened, was humiliated, unable to provide for his clan. He swore vengeance upon Ghilan’nain. And he waited for her. A year passed, and Ghilan’nain returned to Andruil’s sacred glade. She released her gift, another hawk, but she was too shamed at her failure to ask June for another gearwork. She cut out a piece of her own heart and gave it to the bird. It flew straight to the goddess. But the hunter was waiting. He crept behind her as she released the hawk. He tore at her long, long braid, throwing her to the ground. She cried out but nobody could hear her. He blinded her with his dagger and bound her legs and arms, but because of the curse, he could not kill her. So left her, hoping she would die of cold or blood loss.”  
Sera jumped up. “Bastard!”  
Solas put a hand on her shoulder. “It is a story, Sera. There is no hunter here. You’re among friends.”  
Sera blushed and sat slowly down. “Right. But still. He better get eaten by the rodents. Thought you said this was a love story.”  
“It is,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Better have a happy end.”  
“Not all love stories have happy ends.” She avoided looking at him, but he could feel the pull of her magic again, stronger this time.  
“Some of the best stories are tragic,” sighed Cassandra.

“Well, what happened? The Andy-whozit save her or what?”  
“Ghilan’nain prayed to Andruil for aid, pouring out her love for the goddess because she thought it was her last chance. She didn’t know if Andruil even heard. But then she felt a slight tugging on the ropes that bound her, and soft, silken fur brushed against her bare arms. Andruil had sent hundreds of hares to gnaw through her bindings. The goddess was filled with wrath at Ghilan’nain’s suffering and she stalked the hunter to a dark cave where he stopped to rest. She killed him with her own hands as punishment.  
At last, the girl was freed from the ropes. She wanted to return home, and wandered in the wood, but her blindness led her astray. Exhausted and in pain, she stumbled on a rock. But instead of hard ground, smooth arms caught her and lifted her up. A sweet voice called her by name, and Ghilan’nain recognized Andruil. The girl pulled herself up to the tall goddess’s face and kissed her, too happy to be frightened by her own boldness. It might have been her end, if it had angered Andruil. She thought her death would be an acceptable price for that single kiss. But Andruil kissed her back, holding her up. And Ghilan’nain’s sight was restored. The goddess was weeping for Ghilan’nain’s pain. She begged the girl to stay with her, to become her wife. ‘You have already given me part of your heart,’ she said. ‘Take mine in trade.’ Ghilan’nain accepted, with great joy. Andruil made the girl a goddess and gave the People the halla in remembrance, that they should never be lost and alone as Ghilan’nain was, but would always have a guide in their wandering.” The Inquisitor gently closed Cassandra’s book and handed it to her. “All dry.”  
“That was— lovely,” sighed Cassandra, half forgetting the book.  
Sera shrugged. “Not enough blood or fun by half. But I guess it was alright. For a smooshy story.” She got up, rubbing her nose on one sleeve. “Think I’ll go see what Dagna’s got up to. Bees maybe,” she muttered, wandering off.

Cassandra shook her head. “What must it be like to be loved by a god?”  
“Hard, I imagine,” said the Inquisitor.  
Solas leaned forward. “Why hard? If it were truly a god, it could give its beloved anything.”  
“Or take everything away. And the girl— the mortal, would always feel— inferior. Undeserving. Frightened of the inevitable loss when the god found someone— better.”  
“Pah! If the goddess really loved her, she’d never look for anything else. And the girl would never seem inferior or undeserving to the goddess,” said Cassandra.  
“But the girl would _feel_ it anyway, even if it wasn’t the truth.”  
“Then it would be hi— _its_ duty to remind her that she was loved, just as she was. Without alteration. To show the girl that the god was just as fearful of being undeserving of _her_ ,” he said with a soft smile.  
“Every day?” asked the Inquisitor, “The god would soon grow impatient with the girl’s constant craving for praise.”  
His smile grew. “Never. It is not an unpleasant task— nor one limited to gods. It should be a joy to show her the best parts of herself, the things she’s forgotten, all the beauty no one else is privileged to see. Over and over until she knows them herself.”  
Her face colored, but she laughed. “Forever is a long time—”  
“Not long enough,” he said, before he could stop himself.  
Her blush deepened and he felt the heat rise in his own face. “It would have to be a very _bored_ god,” she said.  
“Or one deeply in love—”

The sound of a clearing throat interrupted him. Cassandra was frantically shooing the messenger, a wide grin plastered over her face. She noticed him watching and hastily picked up her book and hid behind the pages.  
“Apologies, Inquisitor,” said the messenger. “Ambassador Montilyet is looking for you. She says you are due for training.”  
“Of course, thank you. I’ll be right there.” The Inquisitor stood up. He rose with her. Cassandra peeked over the top of her book when she thought he wasn’t looking.  
“Training for Halamshiral?” Solas asked.  
“Yes. Josephine is convinced I’ll trip and set the drapes on fire in front of everyone,” she laughed but he could hear the bitter edge in it.  
“May I join you?”  
“Solas, I can’t imagine you ever being that clumsy.”  
“I _have_ been known to inadvertently ignite things before.”  
She held out a hand to him. “I have a feeling the palace will be a bit worse for wear after the Inquisition’s visit. Come, we are late, emma la—” she broke off pulling the hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered and ran out of the tavern, leaving him in stunned silence.

“What happened?” asked Cassandra.  
He sighed and sank back into his chair. “I did not heed my own words, that is what happened.”  
“You mean— neither of you were talking about the story, were you?”  
He shrugged and gave Cassandra an embarrassed smile.  
“Does she know?”  
“Yes. No. I am uncertain what she thinks. It is best that she doesn’t. Not now, with everything so…” he trailed off, staring at the tavern door.  
“You are an idiot,” said the Seeker crossing her arms.  
“So it seems.”  
“What are you afraid of?”  
“Hurting her.”  
“I am uncertain what it was that made her flee, but it is obvious that it hurt anyway.”  
“It is a small pain, in comparison to what it could be.”  
The Seeker raised an eyebrow. “Unless you are planning to deliberately harm her, I promise you, it is _not_ a small pain. Wondering is often worse than knowing, even if you do not feel the same. Though it is plain to anyone with eyes that you do.”  
He was silent. The Inquisitor had said something similar once.  
“Well?” said Cassandra, kicking him under the table. “Go after her.”  
He rose again, but hesitated. “I am unsure what to say.”  
She held up her book. “I’m certain you’ll think of something, but if not, I’ll be happy to lend you a copy of Varric’s—”  
“No! No, thank you Seeker. I’ll— I’ll manage.” He left before she could kick him again.


	24. Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jjPfNk4_-Q

“And this one?” Vivienne held up a porcelain mask.  
“DuPuis. No. DuRellion,” said the Inquisitor. Solas hovered in the doorway, unseen.  
“My dear, this is a _servant’s_ mask.” Vivienne shook her head and placed the mask back on its wooden mannequin. “It’s no use, Ambassador. Don’t waste your time. Tell the Commander to start training her for duels instead, because the first time she opens her mouth she’s going to insult someone.”  
“Give me a moment. I just need some time to study them,” protested Lavellan. Josephine was biting her lip and scribbling.

  
“The ball is in two weeks, Inquisitor. You still have to learn dance forms, proper forms of address, dining room etiquette—”  
“I _know_ Madame.”  
“Maybe if you spent less time in the tavern, you’d recognize the masks by now.”  
He felt a flash of anger and began to step into the room, but the Inquisitor spoke up. “That was uncalled for, Vivienne. I understand what is at stake far better than you know. Don’t let your ideas of who the Dalish are fool you. I am fully capable of this. And much more. Abusing me or the others will get us nowhere. If you have no respect for me, at least have some respect for the Inquisition.”

Vivienne sighed. “Please do not mistake my impatience for disrespect, Inquisitor. I am not hard on you out of spite or because I think little of you. I am hard on you because I have been in your shoes. I know what it’s like to be outside, underestimated, dismissed. I was not always as you see me now. It was a difficult road for me to earn what I have— far more difficult than it ought to have been. I simply want to save you some of the heartache that I endured.” Vivienne bowed. “We can pick this up again later, Inquisitor.”

It was the closest to an apology she had probably ever uttered, and Solas felt a pang of sympathy for the stately mage. She caught sight of him as she left the room and sneered, and he knew his pity was showing and unwanted. Vivienne said nothing, however, and brushed past him, Josephine in tow. The Inquisitor was still staring at the dozens of masks. She picked one up and compared it to another, very similar. She puffed out a frustrated breath.

“What troubles you, lethallan?” he asked.  
“Oh! Solas, I—” another apology rose to her lips, but he frowned and shook his head and she let it slip away, unsaid. “I cannot tell the difference in some of these— they are all so similar. And calling someone by the wrong name—” she trailed off, remembering her own mistake.  
“You are concentrating on the colors?” he prompted.  
“Their patterns seem the easiest difference to pick out.”  
“The differences are in the etchings, Inquisitor. Though the paint patterns may repeat, the carved designs never do. They are sometimes hard to pick out at first, but once you do, it is glaringly simple. Here,” he took the mask from her hand and placed it back on its stand. He led her back to the beginning of the gallery. She stood in front of the first mask, and he just behind. “Close your eyes, lethallan.”  
“But how will I—”  
“Just— let me help.”

Her eyes closed, and he lifted her hand, reaching over her shoulder. He brought her fingertips to the cool metal of the mask, guiding them over the deep spiral etching. A slight tremor shook their hands, but Solas was unsure if the tremble came from her or from himself. “Make a picture in your mind. Think of it like your vallaslin.” He spoke low, his chin hovering just over her shoulder. “Can you see it?”  
“A circle— no, more. A spiral.”  
“Good. Open your eyes. Can you see the etching now?”  
“Yes, it’s very clear.”  
“Look for it first, ignore the colors. This one is d’Amortisan.”  
“D’Amortisan,” she repeated tracing the etching once more with her hand.  
“Let us try the next.” He lifted her hand to the next one, tracing the flowing grooves.  
“Branches— De Chalons?”  
“Very close, but it is lacking the sunburst— instead—” he pulled her fingers over the forehead of the mask, and she stumbled at the sudden pressure against her back. He caught her around the waist to stabilize her and pressed her fingers into the small feather etching. “This is De Monfort, a close relation to the Empress.”

She opened her eyes and tried to imprint the mask on her mind. He did not draw away, but kept his arm around her as he led her to the next. She learned the names and patterns as the sun slid across the windows, turning the room first gold, then scarlet, then purple. Solas tried to memorize the arc of her arm as she followed his, the soft warmth of her cheek beside his own, the rhythm of her breath beneath his arm. _All will be well,_ he told himself. _I will recover the orb, I will save her. Undo this. And then we will find a way to pull down the Veil together. Restore what was. She will understand. She must. With the focus we will have enough power to save everyone. Just recover it, and we can have this, too. All will be well._

He reluctantly slid away from her as Vivienne’s brisk footsteps echoed in the hallway. “I need to speak with you, when you have a moment,” he said quietly.  
“Of course,” she said, her eyes darting toward the hall.  
“After.” He briefly touched her fingertips with his own. “Remember the etchings. You will do well, lethallan. May I wait for you?”  
She only had time for a nod and he broke away as Vivienne and Josephine entered the gallery.

He paced the length of her quarters over and over, occasionally halting to straighten a stray object on her desk, adjust a crooked book on the shelf. He had started a small fire in the hearth, but the spring night was warm and the room soon became too hot. Or perhaps it was just his activity that made him feel overheated. He opened the balcony doors and a quick breeze fluttered her papers and swirled down the stairs.

What was taking so long? Had she done badly? Was Vivienne lecturing her even now? _All will be well,_ he reminded himself, taking another turn around the room. He lit the torch on the balcony, then frowned as it overwhelmed the delicate pulse of the stars. He put it out again.

Maybe she hadn’t realized he’d meant to meet her here. Maybe she was looking for him, wondering if he’d changed his mind _again_. But then, she’d no idea what he’d meant to say. Maybe she thought he intended to confront her, still humiliated by her mistake that afternoon. Her lovely, precious slip. Maybe she was avoiding him. He headed for the stairs, intent on finding her, when the door clicked softly and the sweet, low laugh of the Inquisitor rose from the doorway.

“Lethallan?” he called, leaning over the rail. She was still laughing, one hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle it. “What is it?”  
She gradually caught her breath. “You should have seen her face,” she said at last, another burst of laughter spilling out.  
“Whose? Vivienne?”  
She nodded. “I’ve never seen the woman so shocked in her life. She was almost speechless. And then— and then she thought I was cheating somehow, and she called in half a dozen guards and made them move the mannequins. _Three_ times. When I still got the masks right she got Josephine to run around and collect as many people as she could find and made them wear the void-touched things. And then she made them mill around. Poor Varric had to be the Empress, and Cassandra was _not_ impressed.”  
He smiled as she laughed again, coming slowly up the stairs toward him. “I think you only avoided the same fate because nobody could find you. At last, Vivienne just shook her head and said, ‘Bravo, darling. If you can sort out this rabble, you can do anything.’ I only just escaped.”

“I knew it would prove a simple task for you.”  
She slid the fingers of one hand across the other, looking down at them and shook her head. “It would have been impossible without your help. Thank you, Solas.”  
He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.  
“I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so long.” The mirth faded from her face. “If it’s about what I said this afternoon, I—”  
“It is,” he said quickly, because he didn’t want her to apologize. Not for loving him. Never for that. “About this afternoon, and this morning and yesterday. About all the days since you closed that first rift.”  
“I see.” She took a deep breath and he could see she was readying herself for a blow. That had not been his intent, and he struggled to find a way to shift her mood.

“The stars are out. Will you come and watch?” He held out a hand, she reluctantly accepted it and they walked out into the warm night. The soft breeze threaded through the balcony rail and over them, bringing the green smell of young grass and damp soil with it. “I haven’t heard the story of Andruil and Ghilan’nain told quite that way before. Is that how you heard it in your clan?”  
It won him a small smile. “I may have— embellished a little. Sera wouldn’t have stayed for my clan’s version. I didn’t think it mattered. Neither Cassandra nor Sera will ever believe in the Dalish Creators, so what harm could there have been in the way that I told it?”  
“I like your version, and it is probably no further from the truth than the traditional one.”  
“Still,” she sighed, “It is how things begin to be lost, variation like that. The Keeper would have scolded me if she’d heard.”  
“It is not often that you speak about her. Or your life among your clan. Who were you before the anchor?”  
She sighed and wilted a little against the railing. “About a thousand years younger. Worried about things that seem insignificant now. Wrapped up and hiding from the world.”

“Has it changed you?” He leaned over her open palm, sharing the pallid glow of the mark.  
She laughed. “Yes, Solas. How could it not? It’s changed my entire life. Even if I get a chance to return to my clan, it will not be the same. They will not see me as they did. I will never be a First again. If I am lucky they will accept me among them again. If not— well, that’s unlikely to matter.” She glanced up from her hand to his face. “Don’t look so crushed, it has brought me wonderful things too. I’ve seen more of the world than I was ever likely too, even wandering as we do. I have met friends that my clan would never have allowed to approach. And found myself stronger than I imagined before.”

“But your mind— your morals, your…spirit? Has it altered _you_?”  
She frowned, confused. “You mean, if I didn’t have this— _thing_ in my skin, would I be different?”  
“Something like that, yes. Would you have made the same choices, given the opportunity? Will you think in the same way if it is ever removed?”  
“I believe so. But how could I know? I was never pushed into making these choices before. But the changes, if there were any, are permanent. There is no going back.” She faltered for a moment, as if she were only just then realizing the truth of what she had said. “What is this about?”

He straightened. The air seemed suddenly too thick, painful to breathe. “You— are not what I expected,” he said.  
“Who did you expect me to be?”  
“I have done you an injustice, Inquisitor.” More than one. More than he dared to name to her. “I am ashamed to admit that in the beginning I assumed you were— weak. Timid. That you’d be little more than a puppet to the Inquisition. You had owned it yourself, you had believed you couldn’t be a leader. I resigned myself to— to shielding you, to speaking for you. To _using_ you to gain a better end. I was so _wrong_ , and I am sorry for the way I thought of you— the way I treated you in the first days that we met.”  
“But— you have always been kind to me,” she shook her head, confused.  
“Maybe. But I was not always as sincere as I ought to have been. In the beginning, it was a means to an end. I thought that keeping things— pleasant between us would make it easier to— to persuade you. I have been a fool, lethallan.”

He saw her face changing, closing off. This was going about as badly as it could. “But you showed a subtlety and wisdom that baffled me at every turn. A puppet would never have freed the mages over the counsel of almost all of your companions. A timid person would not have challenged someone like Cassandra or Vivienne, and yet you did. You even challenged me. You questioned my methods, made me examine my own assumptions about— about the world and you, and my own place in it. And you were right to. Please, never stop.” He hesitated, watching her, but her face was composed, utterly blank of emotion. His chest ached with a spreading dread. “Once I’d seen your courage, I believed you’d fall into the same trap that so many have before. I have watched the need for power infect others like a virulent plague. It consumes them, twists them into people I could not recognize. Even good people, misled by good intentions. I’ve seen them clutch to the influence they had, believing there was some end that could be worth the terrible things they did to achieve it. I feared you would prove the same. You have had countless opportunities to lay claim to what was not yours. You know that very few could oppose you, and fewer still would succeed. The mark has given you more sway than I think even you are aware of. There is nothing you could command that would not be done.”  
“If I did that, I would be no different from our enemy,” she protested.  
“I know, but it is rare to find such insight. You have not dismissed counsel, from anyone. But you have also not let it rule you. The Inquisition is more accepting and does more practical good than I could have imagined. It is you that has driven it. Power has found _you_. I have never seen you chase it. When you stayed behind in Haven, casting it all aside— I knew I had misjudged. And then— still recovering, you tried to leave, to venture off alone in order to protect the rest of us, that was not what I anticipated. Where have you come from? If the Dalish have raised someone like you— have I misjudged them?”

There was a flicker of sadness in her face, a shadow that was gathering. “You have opened my eyes about our shortcomings more than once. We may have misplaced many things, but I grew among a kind and generous clan. If I am worthy of praise, it is due to them. Please, let’s speak of something else. It is such a weight to know you are judging the Dalish by my actions. That you would find them wanting because of my mistakes.” She turned to look out over the sharp shadow of the mountains, avoiding him. “I am a statue to everyone. An icon, a painting, a story. Bloodless and breathless. A myth to scare children with. A standard to judge everything by. I should have known it would be the same with you.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Forgive me. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I am _real_ in my own mind. I forget that I may not be real to anyone else. I didn’t understand that my— affections were so unanticipated and unwanted. You have made your point very politely. I will not— seek you out again, you needn’t be anxious.” She turned back to the mountains. The muscle in her jaw pulsed and he knew she was trying very hard not to crack.

He was horrified. “If that is what you understood my point to be, then I have _not_ made it clearly, however polite you think me. I have not found any welcome among the Dalish clans I encountered, but that is no fault of yours. If I had found you first— But as you say, let us speak of something else.” He took a deep breath. He’d never been so uncertain of his own words. “I know you are real. I’ve seen you prove it over and over and over. I’m sorry that it took me so long to understand it. Lethallan, please, look at me.” He touched her shoulder. She turned to face him, but took a step back, her arms wrapped around herself in a forlorn self-hug.

“I’ve watched you make mistakes. Say the wrong thing. Stumble. I’ve seen you wounded and frightened and heavy with fatigue and sadness. I’ve seen you reckless and impatient. I’ve been with you when you doubted. I _see_ you. It has not diminished how I feel in the slightest. If anything, it has only strengthened my regard. If you fail, I will not turn away from you. If the world erased your face from its memory, it could not touch the picture I have of you. If the Chantry someday twists your words, I will remember what you truly said. You are— important to me, just as you are. Without the titles, without the mark, without the armies. Were they all to fall away and fade, you would be as beautiful to me as you are right now. That is what I meant to say.” His heart thudded too quickly in his chest. He’d made a terrible mess of the whole thing. He turned to leave, but her voice cut through every thought that was racing through him.

“Please, stay,” she asked. The night had become utterly still. His breath was loud in his own ear.  
“It would be kinder in the long run,” he said, unable to face her.  
“What long run? A month? A year? Anything longer is beyond my hopes.”  
“Don’t speak that way. I will find a way to remove the anchor. Or stop its spread.” He pulled her in to a gentle embrace. He felt as if she would crumble into dust and be swept away from him. “All will be well,” he said, uncertain if he were telling her or himself.  
“It isn’t your responsibility to save me,” she muttered, but slid her arms around his back and returned the hug.  
_It is, it is, it is,_ he thought. “It is not duty that drives me. Losing you would—” He couldn’t finish the thought, even in his own mind. He pushed it away, again and again. It was a price too dear, even for him. He kissed her, and this time, she didn’t push him away. It was not the slim shadow of a kiss that they’d shared in the Fade, nor the crushing desperation of the one he’d taken after returning to Skyhold. She was warm and solid, returning the soft pressure of his lips. Alive. _Real_.

  
“Ar _lath_ ma, vhenan,” he said when they finally parted. “That is all I meant to say.”  
“And you will let me love you in return?” she asked.  
He laughed. “I have striven to prevent it, but still you persist. I yield, my love. It is a battle I enjoyed losing. What could I do to stop you, even if I wanted to?”  
“Then stay. Just for a little.” She kissed him again. “Stay, stay, stay,” she breathed over his skin.  
“And if I cannot?” he asked, his throat tight and aching.  
“Then I will follow you, until you yield again. I can be patient.”  
He smiled. “I know. But it is late, and you must rest. Vivienne will have another task for you in the morning,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her request.  
She nodded and released him. “On era’vun, emma lath.” She blushed as she said it, still embarrassed by her slip. A surge of joy unfolded in him, rose and expanded. He felt as if the sun were rising beneath his skin.  
“Again,” he demanded.  
She laughed. “I love you, Solas,” she said.  
“Again and again and again,” he pressed the words into the soft skin of her cheek, her brow, her ear.  
“Tomorrow and the next day and every day after,” she whispered.  
“Tomorrow then. On era’vun, my heart.”


	25. Avvar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8fynLx6tYI

Solas woke to a shaking thump. The mortar above him shifted and sprinkled him with plaster dust. Shouting beyond his door snapped him out of the disorientation he had felt on waking. The fortress was under attack. He leapt up, grabbing his staff and ripping open the door.

A bloody carcass lay slumped on the stones in front of his chambers. It was an indecipherable mess of blood and what looked like innards. He stepped over it without stopping to identify it. He had to find the Inquisitor. A quick glance below him reassured him that there were no demons in the courtyard, at least. Solas raced along the battlements toward a small knot of people who were leaning dangerously far over the wall. Cole was standing a little apart, clutching his hat and jumping. Something dark flew overhead and Solas instinctively ducked. It tumbled into the courtyard, thudding into the dust. At least it was not aflame.

  
“Cole!” he cried, “What is happening?” The boy turned toward him, eyes rounded in excitement.  
“For a second, they are _more_. Soaring, surprised, swimming through the air. For a second they are free. Happy. They forget they have to land.” His face dropped. “They weren’t made for flying, Solas,” he said sadly.  
_Wrong question,_ he thought. He tried again. “Where is the Inquisitor?”  
Cole pointed to the guard tower and Solas could see her in front of another small group, the soap bubble shine of her barrier surrounding them. He sprinted toward her, forgetting Cole and the others. Another shadow sailed over him.

Sera was laughing, her voice echoing off the stone crenellations.  
“Phwoar! Did you see _that_ one? Almost went through the tavern roof.”  
“It isn’t funny, Sera,” said the Inquisitor and he could hear the exasperation in her voice as she let the barrier fall. He could hear the crank of a siege engine now and knew whoever it was, was reloading.  
“C’mon Boss,” rumbled Iron Bull, “It’s a _little_ funny.”  
“Do another! Do another!” shouted Sera racing toward the edge to look.  
“Fenedhis, Sera, don’t encourage them,” she sighed. She leaned out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “The drawbridge is open you know,” she shouted. “Just— come inside and we can talk.”

There was a whistling swoosh as Solas reached her and he barely got his barrier up in time as something bleated as it came hurtling over them, smacking into the guard tower and sliding down, leaving a dark smear on the stone. The Inquisitor shook her head, but didn’t look terribly alarmed.  
“If you’re trying to hit us, you’re a few degrees wide,” shouted Iron Bull.  
She glared at the Qunari and leaned out again. “It’s just a waste, and you’re going to hurt someone. Don’t make me come out there.”  
“What is going on, vhenan?” he asked, let the barrier sputter out.  
She turned and smiled at him, and he forgot he’d asked a question. “All is well, emma lath. They will run out of goats soon.”  
“Goats?”  
“That’s right, a little to the left,” called Bull.  
“Don’t _help_ them,” the Inquisitor protested.  
“Don’t worry,” laughed Bull. “They can’t hit the broad side of a— well, of a fortress. Obviously.”

Solas peered over the battlement. A group of large men slathered in woad were shoving a struggling goat into the bucket of a rickety trebuchet. From his vantage point, he could see Cullen and Cassandra leading forces around the fortress. They were cutting off the Avvar and would soon have them. He glanced at the Inquisitor.  
“You’re meant to be the distraction?” he whispered.  
She shrugged. “When they wouldn’t listen to reason, it seemed the easiest course. I did _try_ to parlay, but their chief refuses. Says I killed his son in the Fallow Mire and this is his answer apparently.”  
Another swoosh and her hand shot up, casting the barrier without even looking. But the goat splattered on the wall beneath them.  
“Huh,” said Iron Bull, “I stand corrected. They _can_ hit the broad side of a fortress.”  
“Aw,” said Sera, “that was their last one. Better than fancy Orlesian fireworks, that.”

There was a clash of metal and shouting. He leaned out and saw the Avvar quickly surrounded. The chief yelled at his warriors to lay down their arms. Solas was surprised.  
“Seems they just wanted to make an impression,” he said.  
“Well, they’ve certainly done that. Some of those goats aren’t very accessible. I have a feeling we’re going to have reminders of this for weeks.” The Inquisitor wrinkled her nose in distaste. The spectators wandered off, back to their errands now that the spectacle was over.  
“I know. One is stuck on my roof,” he said. “It was an— interesting way to awaken. I was afraid we were under serious assault.”  
“I’m sorry. There was no time to warn everyone. It was enough just to keep the gawkers from getting crushed by flying livestock.” She began laughing. “Iron Bull was right. It _is_ a little funny.” She cleared her throat and stilled. “Sorry, I know I ought to take it seriously. It’s obviously serious to the Avvar.”  
“Don’t,” he said, “I like it when you laugh. You don’t get the opportunity often enough. I would see you happy, if it were in my power.”  
“But it _is_.” The morning sun sparked off the sharp lines of her ears, illuminated the soft halo of loose hair, caught and tangled and slid over her as if she’d bathed in it. But it was her smile that stole his breath.

He leaned in for a long, gentle kiss. Her joy infected him. “On dhea, vhenan,” he said.  
“Really? Even with the threat of a humiliating death by goat?”  
He laughed into her hair. “I would brave even that for the chance to be near you.”  
“I am uncertain if that’s actually a compliment,” she said.

“Inquisitor! Has anyone seen the Inquisitor?” the shout floated up from the courtyard and she sighed.  
“Time to figure out what to do with them,” she mumbled into his chest. “Maybe I can get them to go chuck goats at Corypheus.” She pulled away, still smiling and gave him another small kiss. “On dhea, Solas,” she said as she parted from him.

It was late afternoon before he reached a natural stopping point for his work. The rotunda was unusually stifling, and Solas had accidentally left a necessary translation in his quarters. It was not an urgent matter, but he needed little motivation to seek out the fresh breeze of the gardens. Vivienne and Leliana were arguing over bolts of cloth as he passed. “I think this one,” said the spymistress, holding up a light silk. “What do you think, Solas?” she asked.  
Vivienne looked skeptical. “Darling, it is obvious that Master Solas has more important things on his mind than the banality of what he ought to wear. Don’t ask _him_.”

He felt the twitch of a smile and took the challenge. “Hmm. Silk will show any stains. And especially in that color. We are attempting to thwart an assassination are we not?”  
“Yes,” said Leliana, “but we must also appear presentable or we won’t even be allowed through the door.”  
“I think…” his hand hovered over a thin wool. “This one. The red will hide any blood.” He pulled it loose and handed it to Vivienne.  
“You think? It would be very heavy for a gown.”  
He shook his head. “No gowns. The Inquisition is a military force. Orlais ought to know while we respect their traditions, we are not theirs to command. Uniforms. Ask Cullen. Or Cassandra. They would agree.”  
“Hmm, you have a point Master Solas,” said Vivienne.  
“Yes, that was very helpful,” agreed Leliana.  
He bowed slightly.  
“Now, my dear, if you could just persuade the Inquisitor to come down from the roof…”  
“What is she doing on the roof?”  
“Either making a dreadful mess or bathing in the blood of her enemies… yes, Leliana, definitely the red.”  
He hurried outside.

Three small figures hunched over the roof of his quarters. A ladder was propped nearby.  
“Viscount,” Varric’s voice identified one of them.  
“Under a duke.” The Inquisitor sounded breathless.  
“Yes. And?”  
“Above a— above a comte.”  
“Below. Above a baron.”  
“Ugh. Never going to get this.”  
“Oh come now, Inquisitor, the masks were far worse.”  
“You’re only saying that because Cassandra insisted the Empress wouldn’t have that much chest hair.”

Solas smiled to himself as he came to stand beneath them. The Inquisitor was barefoot, her leggings rolled to the knee, her sleeves to the elbow. Her hair was twisted into a bun, but loose strands stuck to her cheek or fluttered around her as she vigorously scrubbed the tile roof. Varric lay on his stomach across from her, scraping at a dark viscous goop with a flat blade. Cole poured water carefully down the roof, rinsing away what the others had loosened. Solas sidestepped a small fall of red water. “What are you doing up there?” he called.

Lavellan bent over the roof to see him and he held out his arms, terrified she’d fall. “Oh! Hello, Solas. This was meant to be a surprise.” She wiped an arm over her hot forehead, leaving a bloody smear behind. “Almost done.”  
“Have to refill the buckets,” said Cole, setting the last full one nearby.  
Varric glanced over at the Inquisitor. “Sure, kid, I’ll come help.”  
“It’s all right, this bucket should do. Go cool off instead,” said the Inquisitor.  
“C’mon kid, I’ll race you to the river. I’ve got enough goat blood under my fingernails alone to power a blood mage for a week.”  
“Cool and green, the sun long spears of golden warmth underneath. The sodding dusters don’t know. They never see, lost in the frozen black of the Stone.”  
“Yeah, the river. Let’s go, before the reek knocks us out.”  
Cole sniffed and followed Varric down the ladder. “I can’t smell it,” he said as they walked away.  
“Trust me kid, everybody else _can_.”

Solas climbed the ladder to take their place. “You did not have to do this. I’m certain there are more important uses of your time,” he said kneeling beside her and rolling his sleeves up.  
“I did not _have_ to, I wanted to. Some workers came and cleared all the carcasses, but they have better things to do than scrub away the rest. It will stink until a good rain washes it away. None of the others landed so near sleeping quarters, and I thought it would make you uncomfortable.”  
“Thank you,” he said, dipping another brush into the bucket before beginning to scrub at the dark patch Varric had been working on. “How did you get the others to join you?”  
She smiled. “Cole wanted to help and Josephine assigned Varric to teach me the Orlesian hierarchy. Besides, I told him if he helped that I wouldn’t send Cassandra after him when he writes about this morning. He is your friend, it didn’t take that much persuasion.”

She bent over her brush again, pushing hard, the stiff bristles bending and hissing over the wet stone shingles. They scrubbed in silence together for a long while, the sun baking the stone around them and Leliana’s crows hopping close, hoping for a forgotten bit of meat. She tried to blow a strand of hair out of her eyes but it was sticky, caught in the drying, tacky blood on her brow. He pulled it gently free and smoothed the strand back from her face. She sat up pressing her hands into her back and he poured the last of the water over the stones.  
She ran a hand over the spot, testing it to see if they’d missed any. “It’s still dark, but I don’t think it will smell at least.”

He bent over, finding a clean spot beside her eye and pressed his lips into her overheated skin. “Truly, thank you, it was very thoughtful.”  
“Solas,” she protested, “I’m filthy.”  
“You’re beautiful,” he said, helping her up. “Your kindness is a brighter adornment than the Empress’s finest jewels.”  
She blushed and shook her head. “Sweet, but impractical. I cannot wear these clothes to dinner and I doubt my kindness will suffice.”  
He allowed a slow smile to overtake him and she laughed. “An idea for another night, vhenan,” he said. He picked up the bucket and brushes, glancing over the rooftop at the sinking sun. “I fear we may not have time for a swim.”  
“No, we do not. The Fereldan ambassador is meant to dine with us. I’m sorry, emma lath, I have to go.” She released his hand and hurried down the ladder.

“Wait,” he called after her, “You cannot pass through the throne room like that, you’ll start a panic.” He followed her down passing her the bucket. “Come, let us get the worst of it off.” He opened the door to his quarters and invited her in.  
She lingered just inside the doorway as he poured a pitcher of water into the stone basin beside his table. She stared at the small room, worry etched into her face. “You don’t mean to stay,” she said simply. “When this is done— when this is over— you’re leaving.”  
“Why do you say that?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain level and calm. He found a soft cloth and laid it over the bowl.  
“This place is so— empty. It has none of you in it.”  
“I am not a wealthy man. Does that bother you?” He drew her to the basin as she stared around her.  
“No, that isn’t what I meant. I am not wealthy either—”  
He laughed. “That may have been true once, but not any longer.”  
“The Inquisition’s resources are—” she paused and stared at him. “You’re changing the subject. I meant there are no mementos, no sign of the life this room houses. Blackwall has his carvings and Varric has his papers. Sera has— well, everything. Even Cole has his bird’s nests and pressed leaves. But you— you never intended to stay so you never made it home.”  
Frustrated, he wet the towel and handed it to her. “I only sleep here. The things you mean, my paints, my books— they are only a few steps away, you have seen them.”

She reluctantly broke her gaze to scrub her face.  
“Have you never thought of what you will do, where you will go once the battle is over?”  
She frowned and placed the cloth down. “No. I have not had the time.” She glanced at the mark, darkened by a dried, cracking glaze of blood. “I did not expect to have the chance.”  
He plunged her hands into the cool water, gently pressing away the stains.  
“Where will you go?” she asked, though he was willing her not to.  
“Where I’m needed,” he said, sidestepping the lie she wanted from him.

She pulled her hands from the water and pressed her fingertips to the sides of his face. A cold drop slipped from them and slid down his neck, gathering heat as it went. “Not alone,” she said. He wasn’t certain if she were asking or declaring.  
He folded a hand around one of hers, leaning into her cool hand. “You promised to follow, did you not?”  
“Always. No matter how far.”  
His heart ached with equal measures of joy and dread and her pulled her into an embrace. _All will be well,_ he told himself again.


	26. Servitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e771_0pheVQ&index=1&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“Doesn’t this plan bother you, Inquisitor?” Blackwall fussed with the spare pins, poking holes in the corner of the map.  
She looked up from her briefing notes. “I’m bothered by many things about this. What, in particular, concerns you?”  
“Sending Solas as your servant.”  
Solas started, pulled from his own notes at Blackwall’s concern. He avoided the Inquisitor’s worried look.

  
“I am— nervous about sending anyone alone. But he will hopefully be in no real danger, he is not the assassin’s target, and it is no secret that the Inquisition has been invited to attend.”  
Blackwall smoothed his beard and glanced quickly at Solas, then away. “It’s not _that_. He’s more than competent. It’s just— it’s insulting isn’t it? I mean— well, Inquisitor, you haven’t exactly been ruling with an iron fist, have you? We’ve gotten used to a certain level of respect. And I know it’s not really my business, but I thought you two were— close. Thought you’d want to see him— honored.”

  
She was bewildered for a moment, looking to him for help, but Solas kept his expression neutral, curious to see what she would say. “Blackwall, do you think the life of a servant isn’t honorable? It is an honest, productive life. I don’t see the shame in it. The couriers and cooks, the housekeepers and stablehands here all labor just as hard as us. They are doing their work, just as we do ours.”  
“Exactly,” said Blackwall, “everyone in their station. It’s how the world works. Solas doesn’t belong in a washroom or a stable.”  
The Inquisitor smiled and looked back down at her notes. “Nor do I belong in a ballroom. But times being as they are, allowances must be made.”

“The nobility will mock him. Abuse him. Especially thinking he belongs to you. And he’ll have to say nought about it.”  
“I would hope that anyone who is mistreated would speak up for themselves, regardless of who it is. But perhaps we should be discussing the poor behavior of the nobility rather than what Solas chooses to do. Their bad manners is no reflection on _his_ actions, is it? Anyway, why are you asking _me_? Solas is right here. There are other ways we might try instead. Are you uncomfortable with the plan?” She turned toward him.  
“No. It was I who suggested it, after all. It will give us an excuse to be in the palace ahead of time. If we wish to thwart the assassination attempt, then a head start is crucial. I appreciate your concern for my treatment, Warden, but I think the Inquisition’s reputation is heavy enough to protect anyone under its banner. At least from the worst insults. And if not—” he shrugged and grinned at Sera. “We have several colorful friends who might be willing to help.”  
“I thought this party would be boring,” said Sera, perking up, “never imagined I’d get a titch of fun out of _you_. When do we go?”  
The Inquisitor laughed, and the tension broke.

But when she found him later, it had returned in full force, like a storm that refuses to be swept away by the wind. He’d been finishing the last of his preparations. Josephine’s trunk had already been loaded onto the carriage, its liner concealing half a dozen spare weapons. Leliana’s new agent acting as the coachman, but he was poorly trained. Nervous and very obvious. He’d work as a decoy. The Orlesians had to assume the Inquisition had spies. Let them believe they were fumbling, clumsy ones.

Solas could feel his own mood shifting. It had been so long since his nerves fired with this type of excitement. It was the thrill of a strategy well played, of knowing the opponent would be a worthy one. He had no taste for blood, and was grateful the Inquisitor was trying to avoid it, but the chase— the intrigue, that was something he thrived on. If she hadn’t been in the middle, if he’d been unable to love her, the hunt for Corypheus might also have been enjoyable rather than terrifying. But things had changed. _He_ had changed. The Winter Palace would be an opportunity to recall what he’d been. Though the Inquisitor was increasingly nervous, it really was a game without consequences. He hadn’t the heart to insist that either Celene or Gaspard would be unable to truly alter the entire course of a nation. She would realize it soon enough. For the moment, he was expecting to enjoy himself.

There was a knock on his half-opened door. “Yes?” he asked, pulling his scarlet coat on.  
“That— _thing_ you did in the Exalted Plains— when you reached through my barrier, was it just me? Or is it something you could do again?”  
He adjusted his cuffs before turning to her, debating how much he ought to admit. “You’re barrier was fine, Vhenan. It was not you.”  
She folded her arms and he could see her prickling with worry and impatience. “That isn’t what I asked.”  
He watched her for a long moment. “Yes,” he sighed, “I can do it again, if the need arose.”  
She nodded, relaxing against the door frame. “Good. That’s good.”

  
“What is it?”  
The Inquisitor slowly buttoned his coat and smoothed the fabric. “Despite what I said to Blackwall, I _am_ worried. I know next to nothing about what we are facing in the next week and I don’t like sending anyone in alone. If you were to be hurt—”  
“I won’t be alone. The ambassador is traveling with me. Most likely I’ll be utterly ignored by all but the staff anyway.”  
“Josephine is adept, but not in battle,” she said, her expression one of misery.  
Solas laughed and ran a light finger down the curve of her ear. “You might be surprised what her skill set includes. But this is not a test of strength, my love, but one of the mind. Clever thinking and quick speech will win it before a blow is ever exchanged.”  
She smiled. “Then the two of you will have won it long before _I_ get there.” She brushed her hand along his. “Be careful, Solas.”  
“I will. And we won’t be apart for long. I am happy that you’ll have a friendly face to greet you.”  
“You’re looking forward to this,” she realized.  
“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s a challenge. A hunt. I never could resist a mystery.”

The horn blew in the courtyard. It was time to leave.  
“Hunt well, then, emma lath. Stay safe. I will see you in a few days,” she said, and with a soft kiss, let him go.  
He grinned and squeezed her hand in excitement before dashing across the battlements and down the steps to the waiting carriage. He felt a pang as the horses took off at a trot and a wrenching twist of magic pulled in his chest. She had been more upset than she’d shown.

“Are you ill, Master Solas?” Josephine watched him carefully from the opposite bench.  
“No, no, I’m well. Just— homesick already,” he said with a weak smile.  
The ambassador pointed out of the window. “She’s waving.”  
He craned to look. She was a still shadow against the sun, her arm raised, her fluttering clothes the only hint that she was alive. The carriage dipped as it came off the drawbridge and the sunlight made a halo around her, the mark suddenly flaring like an emerald star. Josephine gasped. “She’s beautiful. Like one of your goddesses, all fire and wind.”  
He couldn’t look away. “She is mortal and real and warm. And every Elvhen goddess in the pantheon would pale in comparison.”  
The carriage turned and Skyhold disappeared behind the mountain. But the pull of her magic didn’t fade until nightfall, when she slept.

Halamshiral was a jumble of stone and wood, arches and tombs. Memory poked through the modern skin, haunted the dusty highway, choked the High Quarter like an encroaching forest. He ached to explore it, but that would have to wait until later. He had business. And not all of it was for the Inquisition. A grand villa had been prepared for the Inquisition’s use, and the staff that met their carriage was even larger than he’d expected. All city elves. All nerves and awe. They had heard stories, he could see it as they greeted him.

Josephine escaped easily, ushered into the large house. She had appointments, a higher place, rounded ears. At first the staff just stared as he helped the coachman with the trunks. One man darted forward to help, but Solas shook his head and the man shrank back. It hurt his heart to see their timidity. He would be kind to them, both for the Inquisitor’s sake and because he was filled with pity. But they could not see what was concealed in the luggage. He did not know which way they’d turn, if they knew. _They will have their chance, in time,_ he thought. They scuttled out of his path as he wandered the villa, pretending to inspect the house when he was actually listening. But they were quiet around him. So he haunted the kitchens until he found the man who tried to help and introduced himself.

The man made a deep bow that Solas wished he could prevent.  
“You travel with— with _her_ , don’t you?” he asked.  
“With the Inquisitor, yes.”  
“We’ve heard she’s Dalish.” The man wrung his hands as if it caused him distress.  
Uncertain what the man wanted, Solas just answered, “She is. Of Clan Lavellan.”  
“But— you are not.”  
“That is correct.”  
“Does she— is she cruel?” he sputtered out at last.  
Solas felt a peal of laughter bubble up in his chest, but he did not let it loose. The man was frightened. They all were. They had probably been terrified for weeks.

“The Inquisitor is one of the kindest people I know. Indeed, in her entire circle, you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person who was not. Have you heard tales of her being cruel?”  
The man shook his head. “No, but the Dalish— are not always friendly to elves like us.”  
“The Inquisition is filled with people from all over Thedas. Humans, elves, dwarves, Qunari— it would not stand long with such foolish divides. One of the Inquisitor’s companions is a city elf from Val Royeaux. Another is a Tevinter magister. They are both welcomed and _safe_ within the Inquisition.”

The man’s eyes were large and Solas noticed a small knot of servants gathering around them. “Briala’s people say the Inquisitor means to settle the war. That she’s a puppet of the shemlen and doesn’t care that they’ll turn their attention back to us when they are done killing each other,” a woman snapped from the crowd.  
His ears twitched at the name. If Briala was as interested in revolution as she seemed, as his friend had believed… The servants were staring at him, waiting for a response. “The Inquisitor is no one’s puppet,” he said.  
“And the war? Does she not care that they will make our lives a misery again when it ends?”  
Anger sizzled through him, but he held his temper. It would not help his cause or the Inquisition’s to alienate them. “She _does_ care about your lives.” He hoped she did. It wasn’t something they’d specifically discussed. She didn’t know, yet, how crushed these people could be at times. “But war is what Corypheus wants. It is not just the shemlen who will suffer if he wins. The Breach was only the beginning.”

“Will the Inquisitor save us?” The man in front of him was still cowering, withered in fear.  
“From Corypheus? She will try.”  
“And from the shemlen?”  
Solas turned to look at all of them for a long moment. “You do not need her to save you from them. You can save yourselves. You are free elves. _Remember_. In the coming years, you have your own war to fight.” His fingers twisted in a subtle spell, planting the knowledge they’d need to find him, when the time came. The path through the eluvians to home. “When you remember yourselves, you will find me there.”  
The spell settled, sank into their skin and he snapped his fingers. The man closest to him shook his head at the sound and the others seemed to waken from a light doze. “I’m sorry, what were we saying?” asked the man.  
Solas smiled. “I believe we were about to discuss dining arrangements for the Inquisition,” he said, and the others wandered slowly off.


	27. Eluvian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBecM3CQVD8&index=10&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“I apologize, but the library is closed to guests.” The docent frowned at the very idea of an elf among the private rooms.  
Josephine smiled brightly. “Of course, my apologies. But Master Solas is responsible for the Inquisitor’s protection. He has been with her many months and thwarted several attempts on her life in that time. You will understand if he assures himself of the security of the palace, won’t you? I will be certain to mention to the Empress how thoroughly you have advanced her relations with the Inquisition when I meet with her tomorrow.”

The docent shifted slightly onto one hip and her neck turned rosy above her collar. “I— The palace guards are without equal. The Empress takes the safety of her guests very seriously.”  
“Excellent,” said Solas, taking a step toward the library door.  
“But I am unsure I can authorize—”  
“Ah, I see,” interrupted Josephine. She patted the woman’s arm. “Say no more. We will approach your superior and ask permission. I didn’t mean to circumvent the chain of command. It was rude of me to assume you were in a position to make this level of decision—”  
“No, that is, yes, I _am_ capable of deciding,” stammered the docent, beads of sweat sparkling below her hairline. Solas almost felt pity for her, caught so neatly in the ambassador’s maneuvering. “Of course, it is reasonable you would want to take precautions. You may inspect the library, yes.”

Solas offered her a deep bow, catching the slight twinkle in Josephine’s eye as he turned away. He’d have to arrange to send her theater tickets during the Inquisition’s stay as thanks. Slipping into the library, he heard Josephine attempting to distract the docent with a question about a nearby sculpture. He’d have to be quick. The long room was cool and shadowy. Empty. He shook his head. So much hoarded knowledge and nobody using it. He could feel the pulse of an old magic, it was close but not here. He strode through the aisles of documents and tomes, ignoring what would otherwise draw him. Through the opposite door after a quick glance. The hallway was empty and the magic thrummed around him. Old and yet— subsumed. Coated with something more recent. Concealed by a large bookcase, or at least, they’d attempted. He pushed, but the case did not move. He tried a nearby candelabra, looking for a lever. Nothing. Nor the torches. No help for it then, he began removing books, pulling and replacing, almost in one movement. He was running out of time. He hit upon it just as Josephine’s voice seeped through the door, warning him.

“I’m not certain where he’s gone to. Perhaps he was checking the other exit?”  
Solas slipped into the doorway as the shelves slid shut behind him. The room was pitch black and the pressure of the nearby magic was almost suffocating. His hand sparked with a green flame and he flung it into the nearby torch. It shimmered in the eluvian’s rippling surface. The fools had left it standing wide open. Still, they had probably not anticipated anyone besides themselves knowing to use it. His skin prickled as he touched the frame. It was new. There was a shard of magic— familiar, too familiar, as if— he placed his hand on the cool face, his flesh sinking into the silver. _It was. How had they found it? Who? And did it mean—_ he snapped back, staring at his hand. It was the same one.

_Void take whoever had found it. Whoever had shattered it in the first place. And whoever had put it back together, rebuilt it._

It was the eluvian he had locked the others behind. The very one. But he had buried it. Deep in a sealed tomb. Smothered it in rubble and vines. _Are they free?_ He panicked and stepped through. But no, he was not in the cavern. There were no ruby shards here. Just the chilled mist of the crossroads and the sparkling fire of dozens of eluvians. He looked back, seeing now that it was cobbled together, this one. The center piece was old, a shattered fragment of the original. All the rest was newly made. Fresh and clumsy, as if the maker had taught themselves. How had they made it lead here? And were there more? Did the shards get scattered and reborn in new exits, new ways for the Evanuris to escape? He shuddered. This was worse than even his worst fears.

It was the work of a moment to wrest control of the eluvian, his power trebled by horror and adrenaline. He slammed it shut and began to run, sliding through all the ancient doors he could remember, wending his way to the tomb, following his memory back. The last was broken, of course, and he ended up some distance away, stumbling through the thickest part of the Brecilian forest until he found the tomb.

It sat open, dark and smeared with dried blood. Someone had built a wooden wolf statue out of bracken, worn now, by rain and snow, but young, a few years old perhaps. It faced the tomb. Guarding it. _Something happened. I was not here. Oh Wisdom, why did I not listen when you tried to wake me?_ He stepped into the tomb, his knees shaking, leaning against the wall and forcing himself forward. He had not felt this level of anxiety since the day he stood in his own courtyard, alone against them all.

It wasn’t far, a few turns. Desiccated corpses lay here and there, a few elves, but they weren’t from his time. A few darkspawn. A few he couldn’t decipher. The frame was empty between two massive statues, a pile of shattered glass spilling down the steps that led up to them. They swirled and rose, lifting into place with the pull of his spell, sealing and repairing, except for the small, jagged emptiness of the stolen shard. _All accounted for, then_. He collapsed onto the stairs in weak relief. Only one more mirror, and he had control of it.  
What had happened? He eyed the broken mirror. His heart wouldn’t stop squeezing pain into his chest. He focused again, pressing flame to the glass, stretching and thinning it as it ran to liquid, sealing the hole. He was getting to the end of his power. Josephine’s panic was a distant worry, but it was still there. He could not afford to wait, but if they were still trapped, if they were waiting for this, he would not be able to hold them back. Not as he was. Lavellan would help. He _knew_ she would. It was midday. There was no way she was sleeping. No one close to her would be. He wouldn’t be able to reach her through the Fade.

He shook himself. What was he considering? She would help him, yes, out of love. He was unwilling to use her. Even now. Unwilling to see the shock in her face when she finally discovered what she’d participated in. What he’d tricked her into. And she was not powerful enough to stop all of them. Maybe none of them, whether he was able to help or not. It was a death sentence. Too dear, unaskable. Too far.

He stepped away from the silent glass, seeing himself in the dead mirror by the sickly glow of veilfire. Drawn and vulnerable and utterly alone. As badly as he wanted to undo what had been done, as much as he wanted to restore what had been lost, he could see the world had passed him by. It would not survive the Evanuris. It could not. It was a battle nobody alive knew how to fight. He should be behind that mirror with them. Perhaps Felassan and Wisdom had been right. His time was long passed. The world was different. Sadder. Darker. But he had found hope in it. People worth salvaging. And hadn’t it been plagued with similar problems before the Veil? Slavery and war and cruelty. Elvhenan had not been immune.

Perhaps he should allow the world to stay as it was. Give people like the Inquisitor and, yes, Briala, their chance to do better than he had done. And when the Veil finally crumbled, for it was failing, even before Corypheus, when it finally fell, let them push back the blight on their own. Let them discover what he could not.

He could stay. He could leave Elvhenan a bright, beautiful memory. He could spend his life with _her_ , and when it was over, let go. Follow her into the Void. Let go. Let go. He was done. Entirely hers. No more Fen’harel.  
And then his eyes fell to the reflection of the jawbone dangling from his neck. He had sworn an oath. He had not meant it for Mythal alone, but for her people, for his. And this world _needed_ the Elvhen. All they had was the ignorant fumbling of the Grey Wardens. That they had not already been overrun was a miracle. It could not last. The world would succumb eventually, unless it had the strength of all to defeat it. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass. There was a war coming, one that would make Corypheus seem insignificant. Between those that sought power at any cost and those who would not submit. He could not forestall it much longer. All he could do was arm the right side. And that meant Fen’harel had to return. Had to stand watch between the past and the future for a while longer.

He straightened, his skin prickling as he murmured the simple spell that opened the eluvian and stepped through, shutting it immediately behind him. If they were loose, he couldn’t stop them any other way. If they were not, he would make certain they stayed sleeping where they were. The red crystals had choked the chamber, spreading over every surface and he could feel the dizzying reverberation of power through his skin. His head throbbed and pain arced behind his eye sockets.

They couldn’t still be here. The eluvian would have been ripped open with merely a thought with this kind of power. Maybe that was what had happened. He squinted against the agony in his head. He reached out a hand to steady himself and jerked back as his hand met the smooth plane of a large crystal. _They were here_. He could hear them. They slept, but they remained, sharing a dream, testing the Fade for a weakness he’d forgotten. He’d felt them all, their rage and frustration still sharp and heavy after all this time. No doubt his touch had caused them to stir— he had to leave, had to seal them away again. He stumbled toward the mirror, swaying drunkenly with the pounding of the red lyrium’s proximity. A shattering crack erupted behind him and he shouted with the nauseating stab that the sound caused. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Elgar’nan’s armored fist emerging from the crystal before smashing against it again.

Solas stuttered through the spell and launched through the mirror. He fell down the tomb steps and groaned, lifting himself gingerly from the ground. He could see Elgar’nan through the rippling eluvian. He was free, striding toward him, the Evanuris mottled with red and black, stained both with taint and magic. Solas slammed the mirror closed. It would not be enough. Seconds later, Elgar’nan would be through. There would be no way to resist him. With the last of his energy, Solas pulled on the massive statues that bordered the eluvian. They trembled and rumbled. He groaned as the spell ripped out of him and the statues leaned and toppled, shattering the frame and the glass to a fine powder.

Safe.

He heaved a great sigh and waited until his head stopped pulsing with exhaustion and hurt. Safe until the Veil collapsed. And then— he sank back to the ground. He needed help. He needed _her_. He had to tell her. After the ball, when life was quiet again. The thought flooded him with relief. All this could come to an end. Pulling himself up, he swayed, still dizzy. She’d understand. She loved him. He knew it, down to his bones. _And if she can’t understand? If what you’ve done— what you must do, is too much, even for her?_ Panic began to seep back into his joints. He leaned to vomit onto the stone floor. _Will you press this upon her too? Is the mark not enough?_ He pushed it away, down. A dark surprise for later, that would leap upon him as he tried to rest. He had work to do.

He turned his back on the shattered frame, collapsing the corridors behind him. He trudged back through the forest and slid through the next eluvian. Solas paused in the crossroads to pick the leaves from his uniform, straightening his coat and recreasing his cuffs. He stepped back into the small room and shut the way behind him.  
Josephine found him pretending to inspect the trophy room for traps. The docent looked highly irritated.

“Is everything satisfactory?” asked the docent, biting each word into a sharp jab.  
He smiled, ignoring her impatience. “Yes, quite adequate,” he said.  
“Excellent!” said Josephine, “let us move on to the ballroom if you would be so kind.”  
The docent bowed, still glaring at Solas, but held her tongue.


	28. The Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCb8ZLLFhnM&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=12

The Inquisition could be heard long before they arrived at the villa. Runners had spread the news of their arrival almost an hour before, and Solas waited impatiently on the lawn for them. When he could hear hoofbeats, he began pacing. Josephine tried to catch his eye and he stopped.

The villa’s staff waited behind him, none of them smiling. Josephine’s bluff with the palace docent had been just that, but Solas was a little uneasy about the atmosphere at the villa. He wasn’t certain that Briala’s people really weren’t a danger to the Inquisitor. He had checked her room repeatedly and expected they would have to be careful of the food that was served to them. Still drained after his flight from the eluvian, he hoped that Cole could help thwart any danger or warn him of any ill intentions.

  
Sera’s giggle was the first to reach them, then Blackwall’s deep chuckle. Cullen and Leliana crested the hill first though. Solas struggled to stay still as the grooms rushed forward to help them dismount. The Inquisitor was next and he shifted until Josephine silently but firmly stepped on his foot, the smile still plastered to her face. But she could not prevent the Inquisitor from seeking him out, her eyes flicking quickly over the gaggle of servants until she found his face. Her careworn expression shattered as a smile of pure joy overtook her face. How could he have considered burdening her more? He pushed the shadow of doubt down and relaxed into an instant of answering happiness, of true peace.

Josephine elbowed him, and he remembered to offer the Inquisitor a deep bow. He allowed a groom to help her down, though his own hands ached to touch her. Josephine hurried forward and waylaid her before she met him and raised suspicions. Solas noticed a grim frown on Blackwall’s face as he watched them, and something troubled even crossed Varric’s expression. Josephine led them into the house, and they all filed past, ignoring him, as if he were below their notice. Leliana must have warned them. Cole glanced sadly over his shoulder at Solas, but Varric nudged him and he turned away again.

He felt a chill blow through him. It was an act, he knew, yet it did not lessen the shock or sudden pain of the exclusion. Lavellan was already reaching for him, her magic tugging and drawing him, but he was overwhelmed by a wave of loneliness even so. He followed them into the house with a heavy frown.

To his surprise, it was Vivienne who sought him out in the bustle of their arrival. “Master Solas,” she said briskly, her voice slicing through the chatter, “I fear the Inquisitor is quite exhausted from our lengthy journey. We must ensure she is refreshed before we meet with Duke Gaspard this evening. Would you show her to her rooms so that she may rest?”  
“Of course, Madame De Fer,” he answered, inclining his head. He caught the shadow of an encouraging smile from the mage before turning to offer his arm to the Inquisitor.

They did not speak as he walked her down the long corridors, but the warmth of her hand on his jacket was enough. Other elves dashed to and fro, scattering around them, carrying piles of towels and heavy buckets of water. She tried to nod and smile at each, startling a few. They reached her rooms at last and she sighed as he opened the door for her and followed her in. She waited until he closed it behind them.

“What has happened? You are exhausted. What have these people put you through?” Her fingers pressed gently into his temples and she poured a gentle healing spell into his skin, hoping it would help.  
“Nothing, vhenan, they have been very polite. And full of questions about you. There is— someone here you should probably meet, in addition to Gaspard and the Empress. Her name is Briala, an ex-lover of Celene. It seems she has been encouraging the war in order to relieve the pressure on the elves here.”  
“You believe she is behind the assassination attempt?”  
“I am not certain. I only know the servants are upset that you intend to help solve the conflict. They seem to think you are in the pocket of either Celene or Gaspard. If we could help them, somehow, it might prevent more unrest.”  
She nodded, the vallaslin bunching and folding as she thought.

Someone knocked on the door and she shook her head, pleading silently as he moved to open it. He gave her a warning look and answered the door. A line of servants bustled in to fill the tub. She forced a smile and thanked each one as he held the door.  
One of the women glanced at him and hesitated. “Inquisitor,” she asked timidly, “do you require a lady’s maid?”  
He stared at his feet so that the Inquisitor wouldn’t look to him for help.  
“Thank you,” she said, “but I have all the help I require. We will try not to burden you with extra work while we’re here.”  
“It would be an honor, my lady—” started the woman.  
He cleared his throat. “I believe her Worship may require aid in preparation for the ball tomorrow.” He smiled. “She can hardly be expected to rely upon me for such— delicate procedures.”  
The woman grinned. “Oh, may I? I’ve always wanted to dress a fine lady.”  
The Inquisitor laughed and blushed. “I am no fine lady, just an elf from the Marches, but perhaps you can transform me. I would love to have your help.”  
“My mum was from the Marches,” the woman said softly and patted Lavellan’s hand, “We’ll set you to rights, don’t worry.”  
“Thank you,” said the Inquisitor and gave her a slow curtsy, which the woman quickly mirrored. He shut the door quietly behind her.

“It’s all right to ask for help, you know. But that was well done.”  
She slid her arms around him. “I wanted to keep you for myself with no one in the way. I can dress myself, I’m a big girl.”  
“We have to keep appearances in mind while we are here, my love.” He pressed his cheek into the warmth of her hair. “But I have _missed_ you,” he admitted before kissing the crown of her head.  
“How long before we have to meet Gaspard?”  
“About an hour.”

She reached behind him and turned the key in the lock and his back stiffened as he heard the tumblers click into place.  
“Now is not—”  
“Stop. You are depleted. I can tell. You haven’t been so drained since that first rift. You need to sleep. No one will disturb you here.”  
“The rumors—”  
“What rumors?” She pulled him toward the large bed. “I’m a demanding leader and I found the entire room unsatisfactory. You had to change every arrangement until I was content.”  
He laughed. “Anyone who knows you would know it for a blatant lie.”  
“Anyone who knows me can assume what they like. It’s the strange eyes and ears that frighten me. Sleep,” she said, pushing him gently onto the bed. She sat at his feet, tugging his stiff boots.

“No.” He sat up and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I would miss this time with you.”  
“There will be other times, in a few days we will have all we want—”  
“Not enough,” he insisted, before kissing the small, bunched muscle at the corner of her jaw. The one that meant she was worried.  
“Solas?” She’d become very still, stiff.  
“Hmm?” he kissed her ear, hoping she’d let him ignore the tension, hoping she’d let go. Hoping he could, too.  
“What _happened_?”  
He sighed and retreated. “I met someone from long ago. Someone I never intended to meet again.” If she asked who, he’d tell her all. _Ask_ , he willed.  
“A foe?”  
“Yes.” _Ask._  
“Did they hurt you?”  
“No. I didn’t give him a chance.” _Ask who, vhenan. Ask why. Ask anything._  
“But— you fought and he was powerful enough to drain you this way?” She stood up, the color fading from her face.

“It was a templar, wasn’t it? I knew we shouldn’t have risked you coming alone. Why did Josephine not send word? I would have come, we _all_ would have come.”  
“It was not a templar. And Josephine did not know. Does not know. It is done, he is not a threat any longer. But it has left me— shaken.” He stood and reached for her hand. “I don’t want to sleep. I crave your voice, your laugh, your touch. _You._ ”  
Her fingers glided over the back of his neck, five spots of living warmth against his skin. “Anything,” she said, holding his gaze. “Everything. Always.”  
“Do not offer me more than I can give in return,” he said, turning his face to kiss the steady pulse in her wrist.  
“Why? Why do you turn me away? Why do you keep yourself apart?” She chased his gaze.  
“I— it would not help to know. Let this be enough.”  
“I cannot. _Tell me_.” She watched him for a second. “Tell me _something_ ,” she pleaded. “The truth, a lie, a story, something. Give me a reason that I can understand.”

He stared at her for a long moment, but she did not look away. He ached to tell her, had waited for someone, anyone, to listen. And now he had the sweetest, kindest ear waiting for him, and the words froze in his throat. He smoothed her hair behind one ear and leaned in. “There was a boy,” he whispered, “born into slavery. Far away.” He lifted her from her feet and she clung to him. “He lived in a beautiful city, where knowledge and beauty thrived. Yet everyone he knew, his family, his friends, his teachers and all the travelers that he met, they were all slaves. No one could remember a time when there weren’t slaves.” He placed her on the bed and stretched out beside her, touching the ink of her vallaslin. “But the boy could see things the others couldn’t. He knew there were people who were not slaves once. People who were happy without masters. But nobody believed him. The others laughed at him. Beat him. Ignored him. He was alone for a long time. Until he met someone else who knew about the free people, too. And they became friends.” He touched the softening scar on her shoulder, memorizing the jagged shape.

“The boy learned much from his friend, about the free people. And he wanted to be free as well. So he tried to—” He frowned, thinking for a moment. “He tried to crush his shackles. But he hurt himself and his friend found him and scolded him. The boy’s friend told him that he was being foolish and selfish. Even if he freed himself from the shackles, his masters would just chase him until they could put new ones on. And even if he escaped, he’d be alone again, unless he could free the others.”

She pressed a hand to his chest and he folded his own over hers. “And the boy listened. He thought if he proved himself to his masters, they would let him go. Let his family go. So he did some very foolish things that he thought were very brave, but it didn’t win his freedom. And one day, the masters got together and hurt his family. And the boy was angry. So he waited. And he lured the masters to a— to a great castle with promises of a lavish party in their honor. And they were fooled and spent the day celebrating. The boy waited until they were asleep and then he pulled the castle down, trapping the masters inside.  
But it was a mighty task. And the boy was tired. So tired.” He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “So he went far from the ruins of the castle, so he could sleep in peace. His friend found him. ‘Wake up,’ said the friend, ‘there were slaves in the castle. You trapped them as well. Wake up, there is still time to dig them out.’ The boy was sad, but he knew it was too hard to get the slaves out without releasing the masters as well. And he was too tired to even try. ‘Find another,’ he told his friend, ‘I have done enough.’ And the friend went away. Every so often, his friend came back and shook him, but the boy kept sending it away.”

Her eyes widened and he realized she’d connected at least one piece. He wasn’t certain whether relief or dread held the upper hand in his heart.  
“His friend came back, one last time. ‘If you do not help the slaves now,’ it said, ‘they will die. And someone is trying to release the masters. All your work will be useless, the slaves will have suffered for nothing. You are the only one who can help.’ And so the boy rose at last, to see if he could help. He tried, but he was still too tired. He could not even lift one stone. So he traveled far, far from his city, asking everyone he met to aid him. But the people he met didn’t believe him. How could one boy trap all the masters? They laughed at the boy and ignored him. Until, at last, he gave up trying to convince them. And instead he started looking for a tool, something to pry apart the rubble. Every day, he knew another slave starved or gave up. Every day, he knew the masters were closer to being rescued. The boy was so lonely. He didn’t want to be ignored. It hurt to be laughed at. He wanted to pretend that it never happened, that his city and the castle, the slaves and the masters, that they never existed. He might have. He might have even forgotten, and been welcomed by others. But then he— he fell in love.”

He brushed her face with the back of his fingers. “And she was _good_. Kind and courageous and tireless. And the boy was ashamed. How could she ever understand what he’d done? For a while, he was afraid she’d ignore him. Or laugh. Like all the others. And then, when he knew she would not, he knew he’d never be worthy of her until he could fix what he had done. That he could never rest until she could love him without being ashamed of him.”  
“Why doesn’t— why _didn’t_ he ask her for help?” she asked softly.  
“Because she had her own people to rescue. It was too much to ask.”  
“Not if she loved him back.”  
“The boy did not want the castle to fall on her too. He wanted her to live a happy life, even if it wasn’t with him.”  
She uttered a strangled cry and he swallowed it, pulled it from her lips into his own chest.

A light knock stopped him.  
“Inquisitor, the ambassador wishes to remind you of the time,” called a voice through the door.  
She winced. “Thank you,” she called over his shoulder. He tried to rise but she clutched his collar, pulling him back. “She’d rather her body broke under a castle than her heart at being left behind,” she said and kissed him until her lip split and he tasted salt.  
“Maybe the boy was afraid that helping him would do both,” he muttered and swept away the droplet of blood on her lip with his thumb. “And if that happened— the boy would break too. And all the slaves would die and the masters emerge and take more.”

She twisted, hovering over him. “And the ending?” she asked, smoothing the tense lines in the center of his brow.  
“I do not know the end,” he admitted.  
“I think,” she murmured, lowering herself to his ear, “the girl followed the boy because she knew, she _knew_ he was not free, not when he thought he was so alone. And she told others his story along the way. Some people wouldn’t believe her, of course, but a few did. More and more as she traveled to that far, far city with its ruined castle.” Her breath was a humid wave against his neck, a ceaseless tide that pressed and receded and he closed his eyes. “She brought all these people to the boy, and he couldn’t keep her away. She would not go. She brought the world with her, so he’d never be alone again. And the people rebuilt the castle. Lifted it. Made the work light. Fought to keep the masters from escaping.” She kissed his earlobe and pulled back, staring at him. “And he was truly free. His friends and his family, his teachers and all, they were all free. And nobody broke. That is how I think the story ends.”

“And the girl, was she happy then?”  
“Only the boy knows that. It is in his power to make her so.”  
He pulled her down onto his chest. “That is a terrible weight, that power. I think the boy would refuse it. He would not be the master of another. Especially the girl.”  
“He did not take it. She gave it freely. The girl only wished she had the same power over him. For she would make use of it often. She would make every day happy for him if she could.”  
It won her a smile from him, and a slow kiss. “She does,” he said. “Every day.”  
“Hmm,” she said skeptically, “I wonder if that’s true. Perhaps he could be happier if she—” A cool hand slipped under his jacket and untucked his shirt, gliding up his chest and her lips trailed over his throat. He shivered, but caught her hand.  
“Vhenan, the Duke will be waiting,” he warned.  
She smacked the mattress with her other hand. “Void take the Duke,” she muttered.  
He smiled. “Yes, someday. But not soon enough to avoid dining with him.”  
She laughed.  
“Ah,” he said, “that is the sound I missed the most these past days. I am refreshed. Your joy is far better than sleep.”  
“You are surprisingly impractical for someone so serious.”  
“I would give you credit for that, but as I have to ask for my boots now and don’t want them hurled at my head…”  
She laughed again and bent to retrieve them.


	29. The Duke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WMCZvsPq-g

“Ah,” breathed the Duke, closing the door behind the Dowager, “at last, we may relax. I am no fan of the Game, Inquisitor.”  
Solas watched her cross her arms from the shadowy corner where he waited. “Then perhaps we may dispense with it, now that your other guests are gone,” she said.  
Varric picked up his tankard and Solas could see him trying to hide a grin. Iron Bull was cracking his knuckles quietly beneath the table. They all knew her tells by now. Except the Duke.

  
“Yes, by all means, let us speak plainly,” said Gaspard.  
“You want the Inquisition to support your bid for the throne.”  
Gaspard was startled. “It would certainly shorten the war.”  
“Why should we?”  
He spluttered over his drink. The other servants, who had been quietly refilling drinks and lighting pipes, scurried away into the dark corners of the room. “Well, Inquisitor, you do get straight to the point. I am prepared to offer you the services of the chevaliers, of course—”  
The Inquisitor shook her head. “I’m not interested in your men. Or your gold, or anything either you or Celene were going to offer the Inquisition anyway. Neither of you is going to withhold your aid, not with the fate of Thedas hanging in the balance.”  
“You’re quite confident,” said the Duke.

She was. More than Solas had expected. Again, she was surprising him. Yet, she would not risk alienating the Duke just to brag. What did she intend?  
“Very well. What is it you want?” Gaspard tapped the ash from his pipe and handed it to a nearby servant to refill. Solas watched the Inquisitor’s gaze flick to the servant, then back.  
“I want to know what you intend for the people of Orlais, should you win the crown. _All_ of the people.”  
A greasy smile oozed over the Duke’s face. “Of course. Celene has not been terribly fair to the elves—”  
“She may have torched the alienage, but _you_ lit the brand. I appreciate that Celene’s ascension may have been underhanded and manipulative, but you have done your part in inciting unrest. The Inquisition is aware of your playwright friend, among other instances. But I do not speak of only the elves. You have set the nobility against them, yes, but that required little maneuvering on your part. The war has also bankrupted the Orlesian government, pulled laborers from farms and shops, and destroyed countless families.”  
“And the Inquisition is better?” Gaspard leaned forward, pushing away the pipe held out to him in the servant’s trembling hand. The Duke’s voice was smooth, but Solas could hear the rage edging his words. She could too.

He could feel the crackle of magic in the air. Dorian was looking toward him for support. Vivianne was tracing something into the tablecloth and her finger hovered, paused. She was waiting to finish a spell. Solas held his breath.  
“No, we are not,” the Inquisitor admitted. “But letting Corypheus do as he wills would cause even more suffering. So we pay the cost to oppose him. You and Celene squander your people on who wears a shiny hat.”  
“Unbelievable! I am trying to save a nation—”  
“Then you ought to be working together.”  
“I _tried_. I offered Celene a chance at a diplomatic marriage and she turned it down. Repeatedly.”  
“You disappoint me. I assumed this war was about more than your bruised ego. There are other methods of cooperation—”  
The Duke rose swiftly to his feet. Solas could see the back of his neck was a deep crimson. “The crown is _not_ a matter for negotiation!” He had lost the even tone, his voice rising in fury.  
The Inquisitor slammed her hands onto the table, and leaned toward him. “Neither are the lives of the Orlesian people!” she shouted. “You and Celene are going to end this war, Gaspard, one way or another. And you are going to work together to rebuild what has been destroyed. The Plains, the alienage, the low quarter— _all_ of it. And Commander Cullen is going to work closely with the University to decrease Orlais’s dependence upon lyrium—”  
A bitter laugh burst from the Duke. “You act as if you are the next Divine. You are just a rabbit who was lucky enough to survive.”

A wisp of smoke drifted from the tablecloth beneath the Inquisitor’s hand. Varric nudged her and she took a deep breath. “I may be just a rabbit, but the next Divine _is_ in this room,” she said, her voice a treacherous calm, “and I guarantee that she supports this. We’ve discussed it. So unless you want to lose the support of both the Inquisition _and_ the Chantry—”  
“This is insane! I did not sacrifice my men to become a puppet—”  
“I am not asking you to be a puppet. I am asking you to make the lives of your subjects _better_. To make Orlais _stronger_. Shouldn’t that be the goal of any leader?”  
“And if I do not agree?”

The Inquisitor smiled. Solas shuddered. It was not a happy smile or the gentle, kind one she almost always wore. It was the grin of a warrior, a hunter who has cornered its foe. “Then, my most gracious host, the Inquisition will enjoy your hospitality. Eat your excellent food, drink your expensive wine, dance in your pretty ballroom. And then we will leave you _alone_.”  
“What? That’s it? That’s your dire threat?” Gaspard threw back his head and laughed. The Inquisitor’s smile didn’t fade. The others stood up, almost as if on cue. The Duke’s laughter died in his throat and the servants cowered, pressing near to Solas, as if he could help them.

The Inquisitor scanned the corners of the room, turning away from the Duke to face the elves. Her smile was softer now, the one Solas was accustomed to seeing. “You— all of you, your families, your children, your neighbors, elven or human or qunari or dwarf, you are all welcome to join us. We will protect you. Skyhold is large and has room to grow. We will not turn you away. You will be equals, treated with respect, no matter who you are. You need not be here when Corypheus comes. For he _is_ coming here. And he is powerful. And cruel. But if the nobility choose power and cruelty as well, then they deserve each other. The Duke does not want the Inquisition to waste lives opposing him? Then I shall take his advice and not interfere when his army of plagued templars arrive.”

“You’re bluffing.”  
She turned back to the Duke. “We put aside the Game for the night, have we not?”  
“L— lethallan,” stammered one of the servants, “We are poor people. Most of us have nothing. We cannot make so lengthy a journey. And if we did, where would we go? Our homes, though they are humble, are here.”  
“The Red Jennies will help,” said Sera suddenly, “They’ll get you to Skyhold.” Her eyes glittered, defiant and proud, staring at the Duke.  
“And the Chargers,” rumbled Iron Bull.  
“And the Inquisition has resources,” said Josephine. She was already doing math in her head. “And allies. The Inquisitor has made many friends who will be glad to open their homes. We share what we have.”  
“In return for what? You fools, you cannot believe this. Nobody would do this without expecting some gain,” the Duke snapped.  
“She’s done it before, Gaspard. If I were you, my dear, I would consider her offer. It is a generous one, and one that you will see aligns with your own goals, if you calm down and reflect. The favor of the Inquisition may be something you believe is transitory, but the Inquisitor was right. The next Divine _is_ in this room, and that is not something easily brushed aside.” Vivienne walked over to the Duke. She placed a hand on his arm. “Come, Gaspard, take some time to think it over. I assure you, Celene will not receive a better offer.” She led the Duke from the dining room, closing the door behind them. The Inquisitor puffed out a breath, looking down at the table. She notice the burned imprints of her hands on the cloth.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, glancing at the servants and moving the glasses carefully aside to roll the singed cloth. “I did not intend to make things harder—”  
“A tablecloth is a tiny price to pay for hope. We have not had any in so long,” said the ancient housekeeper, reaching over to pat the Inquisitor’s arm. “Don’t worry. The Duke is all bluster and brag, he will come around, though he denies it now. I have seen it many times. Come and sit in the garden. The cool air will do you good.”  
“I— yes, thank you lethallan,” muttered the Inquisitor, allowing the housekeeper to pull her gently away and through the servants’ door. The rest of the staff followed shortly after.

“Tell me she’s bluffing,” said Josephine after they had gone.  
“She is not,” said Cassandra. “You did not see her when we passed through the alienage.”  
“She would not leave them to die— I don’t believe it, it’s so unlike her,” Josephine protested.  
“It is _not_ unlike her, Ambassador,” said Solas, emerging from the corner where he’d been listening. “Remember where she came from, before all of this. She trained for years to become her clan’s Keeper. And this is exactly what a Keeper does. Protects their charges, ensures fair treatment of all, dispenses justice when necessary. By making her the Inquisitor, you have made all of Thedas her charge. But as the Commander pointed out, she cannot save them all. She knows this. So she makes a play to save the most that she can. What is unjust about her offer? She does not want to rule Orlais. She just wants Celene and Gaspard to take care of their people. For our purposes, it is equally important. We can help whoever we like to the throne, but if they do not address the problems in their empire, then Corypheus will still be able to use the unrest to his advantage.”

  
“We were meant to make allies. I cannot see this tactic helping—”  
“She just _did_ , Ruffles,” broke in Varric. “Maybe not the ones with money, but I’d wager she gets them too, by the end of the week. The Inquisitor just ran circles around the Duke and Leliana told us he was the most dangerous player in this. But it doesn’t matter. What she said tonight— by morning it will be on a thousand lips in the low quarter. She’s won them and she hasn’t even spoken to them yet. Whatever Celene or Gaspard decide to do, whatever happens with the assassination attempt, it won’t matter. The people are _hers_ now.”  
“That’s what we want, yeah? Those nobs would never side with us anyway, not unless we make ‘em. And this way, they get theirs _and_ we win.” Sera began cleaning her nails with a dagger.  
“Well then I…”

Solas tuned Josephine out as Cole tugged on his arm.  
“It’s a bloody inch, this one,” the boy whispered, “Everything is green and jagged. All the world torn. She tries to sew it up, inch by inch. But she is tired. She does not have the miles she needs. The anchor _hurts_ and crawls beneath the skin. Everything is worse.”  
Cullen overheard. “She needs some time away. Somewhere she doesn’t have to be on display. We have had no break since Skyhold. Every night was another party, another speech. And every day we passed more misery caused by the war. I have not seen her so low since the attack on Haven. Take her somewhere people won’t stare. Away from the villa. Away from the city if you could manage it. I will cover for you. She has no appointments until tomorrow afternoon, but if she stays, Josephine and Vivienne will quickly fill the time.”  
Solas thanked the commander and went to find the Inquisitor.

He found her pressed against the garden gate, staring down into the low quarter, her marked arm wrapped around the iron bars. He curled his fingers around her own, flooding her skin with a healing spell, though he knew it would do little to help. She looked up, startled out of her thoughts.  
“Oh! Do they need me?” she asked, pulling away from the gate.  
“No, you are safe. I thought we might go down to the alienage.”

A flicker of sorrow crossed her face and was gone, succumbing to the joy of being with him.  
“There is a wedding there tonight,” he continued, “The bride was too shy to invite you herself, but she asked me to. There will be music and dancing. Maybe some sweets.”  
Her face was wistful. “It sounds nice. If I could just be— just be _me_ , I would love to go. But no bride wants the Inquisitor to overshadow her. It was kind of her to invite us, but I don’t want to intrude.”  
“The celebrations in this alienage are few and this is the first since the fire. Many people will attend. If we don’t wear our uniforms, we may blend in.”  
“If anyone asks, we would just be what? Two long lost cousins of the groom who wandered in? And we could dance— together?” A fresh spark seemed to ignite within her.  
“Until the last note fades if it pleases you.”  
She hesitated. “We will have to sneak out.”  
Solas laughed. “That is part of the attraction, is it not?”  
She beamed, her happiness the sudden burst of sun through dense cloud. “When?” she asked, clasping his hand in hers.  
“Ten minutes, if you change quickly.”  
She pressed a kiss into his palm and darted away.


	30. The Low Quarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiyi_Rvr_ec&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=14

Without the mark, she would have been a silent shade, the flitting shape of thought. The anchor made her solid, lent a pale warmth and flesh to the idea of her in the dark. There were lines on her face that he didn’t remember seeing before, worries that had carved themselves upon her skin. He tried to dismiss it as a trick of the emerald light, but he had only to glance at the spread of the mark to know better.  
Her excitement was infectious, pushing his dark thoughts out.

“I can hear the music,” she whispered.  
He held out his hand and pushed open the gate. “Come vhenan, I would not miss a single dance with you. Hurry!”  
She ran with him down the hill toward the light and laughter of the alienage.

There was no hiding the hasty, ramshackle huts that had been finished just days before, the wood still bleeding fragrant sap and the thatching stiff and drying. But the squalor that had shocked her during the day had been softened by dozens of glowing lanterns and wild flowers poked into every crack and strewn underfoot. Long ropes of arbor blessing twined around the railings and the charred trunk of the vhenadahl, lending it the illusion of life, if only for the night. The Inquisitor’s fingers twitched in his. He looked down and saw she was casting a spell.  
“What are you doing?” he murmured.  
“Watch,” she said, without taking her eyes from the burnt tree. He looked up just as the trunk cracked and split, the sapwood swelling and shooting upward, cascading into flowering branches. The crowd gasped, delighted.  
“Be careful, my love,” he breathed into her ear. She nodded, but her smile was unburdened, free.

He needn’t have worried, the people believed it was a blessing for the bride and groom. He supposed it was.  
The blossoms drifted down upon the couple, upon the dancers around them. They released a sweet, heavy scent as they were crushed, and Solas could almost forget where they were. She turned to him and smiled, brushing petals from his shoulder. He spun her into the dance and the alienage faded into a blur of amber light and silver flowers falling around her. The flush of her skin in the warm summer air and the shine of her eyes as she watched him were all that he cared for. She was laughing as the musicians stopped for a breather.

The square was choked with people, not only city elves— it seemed the entire low quarter was attending. The crowd was thick and the voices loud, but he heard no arguments and saw no sad faces among them. The Inquisitor did not give him time to observe for long.  
“I have never seen so many people at a bonding,” she said watching the throng. “The clans are much smaller.”  
“This marriage is probably very advantageous. Especially after a disaster like the fire. And these people have had little reason to celebrate in the past year.”  
“I hope we can give them more reasons, now. It would be a lovely gift if this wedding was remembered as the start of better times.”  
He laughed as he pulled a stray petal from her hair. “You are impossible,” he said. “Most people would be more than content just stopping Corypheus and saving the world.”  
“I only want to make certain that it’s worth the effort. The world will continue after Corypheus is gone. After _we_ are gone. People will still work and tell stories and raise children and love. We are saving it for them, too, not just for today.”  
“If only we all had your foresight.”

The music began again and she pulled him back among the dancers before he could become too serious. “I didn’t know you were so fond of dancing,” he said, raising his voice a little to be heard.  
She blushed down to the neckline of her dress and glided closer to him so she could speak quietly. “I am _fond_ of you. Of having you nearby, of speaking with you, of— of touching you. The dancing is just a reason to do all of that.”  
“No more waiting for reasons,” he replied, “I’m jealous of every second.”  
“Greedy,” she laughed as he pulled her aside, out of the whirl of movement.  
“Yes,” he agreed, kissing her.

Someone pressed a cider into her hand and she offered it to him. He shook his head but pulled the lingering sweetness from her mouth after she’d swallowed. Her lips were chilled from the drink. He knew he should care that others could see them, but he did not. And he would not dampen her joy by holding back his own. He pretended nobody knew who she was, though the vallaslin was a stark reminder she was not of them, and the mark glowed brightly, giving her away. He wanted her to forget, just for the night. For the most part, the other guests obliged, allowing her to mingle with them free of comments or stares.  
Still, he was surprised and reluctant when a young woman was bold enough to pull him away from the Inquisitor for a dance. But Lavellan grinned and waved him on, undisturbed by the loss of a partner.

“Don’t worry, she will not be idle long,” said his partner.  
Solas glanced back at the turn and saw someone speaking to the Inquisitor.  
“Briala wishes to speak with her,” said the young woman.  
A chill spiked through him and he began to pull away, but the woman would not allow it. “Not alone,” he hissed, scanning the crowd to see where she’d been taken. The woman pulled his face back toward her and he resisted an intense urge to push her away.  
“She isn’t in danger. Over my shoulder, see? She is safe. Happy. This was not a threat, just a request. Briala believes the Inquisition’s goal and ours align. She wants to meet the Inquisitor herself.”  
“Not tonight. She has done enough.”  
“Agreed. That is why we approached you and not her. Tomorrow, in the palace. She’ll find your party before the talks.”  
“I cannot speak for her, but I will let her know that you wish to speak with her.”  
“It is good that she came tonight. Perhaps it will remind her of where she came from.”  
A sizzle of anger struck him at that. He dropped the woman’s hand and stepped away with a stiff bow. He didn’t bother arguing with her, it would do no good. The Inquisitor was returned to him as the song ended, breathless and flushed.

“I didn’t know that one,” she said, “I fear every last one of that man’s toes are bruised.” She glanced up, her smile fading at his solemn expression. She stroked his cheek, erasing the uncomfortable memory of the strange woman. “Solas, are you unwell?”  
“Not at all.” He shook off the irritation, let it melt away.  
“Are you— are you _happy_ emma lath?” she was hesitant, doubting, afraid to break whatever enchantment she’d found herself in.  
He pressed her palm to his chest. “Can you not feel it? It threatens to burst forth and flower like the vhenadahl. You make it hard to breathe because I am already so filled with _you_. Someday, I will steal you out of time and we will return to this night again and again. I have never been happier, vhenan.”  
She brushed her lips on his, the warm pulse of her magic spreading through his chest, overwhelming him.

They both wanted to draw it out, make it last, but neither could stop time. The lanterns slowly guttered and winked out, the feast dwindled and the guests drew away to their homes as the musicians wound down. She drew him finally away, leading him gently back to the darkened cobblestone road back to the high quarter. But he could not bring himself to regret the passing of the night. It was a bright moment, untarnished by yearning for more. He would not spoil it by mourning its end. She was loose and light, kissing the last of the honey from a shared cake off the tips of his fingers. The soft green of the mark lit the space between them and he could see the lines around her brow were softened, smoothed away. Her shoulders did not droop and the bright glowing heat of exertion and cider made her seem vivid, young. He didn’t notice the guards at the gate, too absorbed in her.  
“Oh!” she said suddenly and her laughter faltered.  
Solas looked to see what had caused it.  
“No entry to the high quarter until morning. There’s a curfew until after the peace talks,” rumbled one of the guards.  
“I’m sorry, we are visitors, we didn’t know—”  
“The markets will be open in the morning, you can visit then.”

Solas smiled at the misunderstanding. “This is the Inquisitor, we are guests of the Empress.”  
The other guard snorted and the smile dropped from Solas’s face. “Tell us another one. We’ve heard them all, but that one’s new.”  
“It’s the truth: here,” Lavellan held up her marked hand, the anchor sparkling like sun on river water.  
The guard shook his head with a snicker. “How much did you pay for that one? The illusionist ripped you off, it’s not even the right shape. Go on then, back to the alienage before I lose my patience.”  
She turned to Solas, confused. He tried again. “I assure you, this is no impostor. This is indeed Inquisitor Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, here to attend the peace talks.”  
“That’s enough,” snapped the guard.  
The other tweaked Solas’s ear sharply between the metal fingers of his gauntlet. The Inquisitor cried out as if it were her that was hurt. “The Herald isn’t some knife-ear. What kind of fools do you take us for?”

She stepped forward, pushing Solas behind her as he cupped the injured ear. “If you touch him again, I will end you. It will be slow and bloody and painful,” she snarled and he could feel the charge of her magic prickling around them.  
The guard leaned down to look at her. He laughed. “Caught yourself a wild rabbit, did you?” he eyed Solas, “I hear they give good sport, unlike the dried up, bony elves here.” He ran a cold steel finger down the vallaslin on her cheek and she shrank away, temporarily unsure of what to do. “Shall we see?” He glanced up at Solas seeing the silver flames already bursting from his palm. “Uh-uh,” the guard tutted, pulling off a gauntlet, “You’re new, you don’t know how this works. See, you all look the same to us. So when something happens, an incident involving an elf— we don’t know how to pick out the guilty from all the rest. So we have to punish you all. Likewise, when you cooperate—” He slid his bare hand down the column of her throat, “Everyone benefits. Tell your friend not to look so angry. He only has to wait for his turn.”  
The other guard looked nervously from the Inquisitor to Solas. “Leave ‘em alone, Fabron,” he muttered. “Patrol will be here in moments anyway.”  
“So? We can share,” Fabron smirked.  
“Better not. Never know what d-diseases these wild rabbits bring with them.”

Fabron turned toward the other guard to argue and Solas grabbed the Inquisitor, curling around her to fade-step into the dark, beyond the torches. She gasped and he folded her marked hand into a fist so the light could not betray them. “It’s me, vhenan,” he breathed into her ear, “make no sound and hold onto me.”  
Her hand was shaking but she didn’t let go as he led her away from the road and down into the overgrown rubble of an ancient pavilion. He knelt with her in the long weeds, gently prying her finger open so the light of the mark spread over them.

She touched his swollen ear and burst into tears. “Ir abelas,” she sobbed, flooding the mangled cartilage with magic. “I cannot protect you, I cannot protect _them_. I have an enchantment that can rend the sky and at the first threat, I froze like a cornered nug.”  
“It was not fear that stopped you,” he said, pulling her tight to his chest, “You have battled bandits and demons and dragons and worse. You’ve never hesitated, not even in the beginning. Do not allow that _filth_ to make you feel helpless. You are powerful, with or without the mark. He used your love to stop you. He convinced you there would be pain, not for you, but for others.” _And for that, alone, I will tear him asunder._ “We will stop him, and anyone like him. Tomorrow is one step, there will be others.” He stroked her hair and closed his eyes. She smelled like the apples and honey they’d been eating. Like a lingering summer afternoon, a solitary note of bliss amongst all the decay of the world. “We are safe, we are together. All will be well.”

It did not take her long to become still, but he could tell it was a surface calm only, her heart still racing against his chest and her fingers gently rubbing his ear, as if she wasn’t convinced she’d healed it correctly. “I’ll take you back to the villa—” he started.  
“No, not now.”  
“We don’t have to go past the guards, I will pull us through the wall.”  
“And then you will go to your bed and I to mine, and I will dream of you being hurt over and over. Of us both being powerless to stop it. And I will wake over and over but you will not be in the nearby bedroll or keeping watch by the fire. I will wander the corridors but not know which room is yours to check, to see you sleeping safely—”

He slid down into the grass, twisting her to lie beside him. “Don’t let a few moments of ignorance overwhelm all the hours of joy before. Remember the laughter and music and the soft smell of flowers and cider and wax. Let those be your dreams. Sleep. I will be here if you wake.”  
It took a long while and many soothing words for her to let go and slip into the Fade, but she was restless, waking with a start more than once and pulling at him with her magic even in her sleep. He longed to join her, to erase the nightmares he knew she was having, but Solas’s own mood was unstable and he knew that would just make it worse. Instead he waited, pressing her gently whenever she reached for him, speaking to her whenever she flinched.

He waited for the change of guard near dawn, entering the Fade at last as the sky paled to a soft gray. He stalked Fabron, chasing the guard through several nightmares before ripping his spirit viciously from his flesh, taking care to leave his body alive. The guard captain would find him in a few hours, blank and emotionless and never a threat again.  
He woke as she gingerly touched his ear. “Does it still hurt?” she asked when she realized he was watching her.  
“No. It’s mended. Put it from your thoughts. He will not be able to harm anyone again.”  
Her gaze flicked from his ear to his face. “What did you do?”  
“Far less than I wished to,” he admitted, rubbing the span of her skin where Fabron had touched her face, as if he could wipe away all trace of it.  
She pushed back a little. “They will retaliate—”  
“They won’t. They’ll never even know what happened. He’ll get a quiet retirement somewhere. It’s far better than he deserves.” He curled over her, his breath warming her throat before he kissed her neck, replacing the foul fear the guard had implanted there. “It is not worthy of another moment of thought, vhenan. We have a long day ahead and our time together runs short.”

She sighed. “I fear tonight’s dancing will be far less enjoyable.”  
“I fear there will be less dancing altogether.”  
He felt the shiver of a laugh travel through her chest. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t have to wait for a reason to touch you any longer,” she said pulling herself up to kiss him.  
“Indeed.” He moved to sit up, but she tugged him back down.  
“One more.”  
“Now who’s the greedy one?” he teased, relieved that her anxiety had been banished from her mind.


	31. Halamshiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FodfkqfJrhQ

Solas was slightly amused to find the palace docent still irritated with him. His inclusion in the Inquisition’s party during introductions to the Empress only seemed to annoy the docent more. He supposed she believed he had forgotten his station. She had him removed from the kitchens after that, insisting he was “too quality” to be seen in a scullery, her voice laden with sarcasm. He took the hint and began prowling the corridors looking for Briala’s contacts instead. He was effectively leashed, however, unable to slip behind the scenes as they’d hoped. Both the docent’s ire and the Inquisitor’s own demands of the Duke had made him a minor celebrity among the servants and they watched him as carefully as he watched them. He heard plenty of vicious gossip between the guests, who thought him beneath notice, but nothing of immediate import.

He noted that there were fewer and fewer waiters making the rounds as the party went on. It may have been due to a delicate balance of keeping the guests just tipsy enough to remain pacific but not drunk enough to cause more than a smattering of duels. Or perhaps it was because of something more sinister. He did not know, and Leliana was kept too busy to consult with him. He tracked down Iron Bull near the garden. “Have you noticed anything with the servants?” he asked.  
“They seem to be going on permanent break. You see ‘em when you were down in the kitchens?” murmured Bull, his eye flicking quickly over the hallway.  
“I was shown the door.”  
Iron Bull snickered. “Yeah, you don’t much look the part.”  
“And I suppose you would have done better?”  
“Sure, I could have come a week early and posed as a wall mount in the trophy room instead,” he joked. “There’s blood in the doorway,” he said tilting his head slightly toward the drying stains.  
“Yes, in the garden as well. Doesn’t seem the work of a competent assassin.”  
Iron Bull frowned. “You’d think they’d want to get in and get out. If Celene is really the target, why is she still breathing? Why mess with the help?”  
“And it’s too subtle to cause panic, if that’s the design. Nobody’s even noticed yet. There must be more at play here.”  
“Might not even be related, you know. Might just be jealous nobles or trysts gone wrong.” Iron Bull grinned. “All this creeping around kind of makes me nostalgic. Kind of expected this to be boring. Still—” he stretched and rolled his neck, “be nice to get to some action soon.”  
Solas inclined his head toward the approaching Inquisitor. “You may be about to get your wish.”

“Shit, Chuckles. Pretty glad you got tossed out on your ear before all this happened.” Varric crouched near the sprawled corpse of a servant.  
“He must have seen something,” said the Inquisitor. “Whoever it was must still be here. Blackwall’s been standing near the door all night. He said he’s seen several servants come through here, but none ever came back out.”  
“Some of them aren’t dressed for kitchen work,” said Solas. “I think these might be Briala’s spies.”  
“This one’s not,” called Iron Bull from the garden.

  
The man’s blood drained into the nearby fountain. No elf and certainly not a servant. The Inquisitor bent to retrieve the dagger embedded in his back. She ran her thumb over the hilt’s elaborate crest. “This is Gaspard’s seal. You said the carvings never repeated, correct?” She handed Solas the knife.  
“Are we backing the wrong horse?”  
“We haven’t backed anyone yet, Varric,” said the Inquisitor. She bent to examine the body with Iron Bull but a scream interrupted them.  
“Venatori,” scowled Iron Bull.  
“These guys again? Don’t they know when they’re beat?” Varric’s crossbow rattled as he loaded a bolt.  
“Don’t let the leader escape,” cried the Inquisitor, frantically hurling lightning.

They made quick work of the small force. Iron Bull didn’t stop for breath but charged toward the building the leader had disappeared into. More Venatori sprang upon them. He dragged them along and kept going, Varric and Solas finishing them off as they ran.  
“Where are they all coming from?” asked the Inquisitor at the first break.  
“Inside job,” gasped Bull. “Has to be. No way this many got in without help. Five? Maybe. Twenty-five, no way.”  
“It’s not looking good for Gaspard,” said Varric.  
The Inquisitor shook her head. “It just seems— off. He’s no saint, but he’s had several opportunities to obtain the throne through ruthless means. In some sense, Celene owes her crown to his unwillingness to break his code of honor. Why would he side with Corypheus now? He is no friend of Tevinter.”  
“The Venatori are a cult, Inquisitor, nothing more politically important than that. Though, I think you are right. Gaspard does not seem the sort to accept another’s rule over him. But then, desperation leads to strange things. Look at Alexius.” Solas fiddled with the dagger. “We will have to catch the leader to get our answers.”

But when they found the masked assassin, there was no time for speaking to him. Though they’d expected the ambush, it was still a chaotic battle and Solas was still dealing with an archer when he heard the Inquisitor swear loudly from across the room.  
“Fenedhis, Varric, we needed him to talk.”  
The archer slumped to the floor and Solas turned back to his friends. “Sorry,” said Varric. “He looked like he was about to gut you.”  
The Inquisitor sighed and gave Varric a fond smile. “Thanks for having my back. He probably wouldn’t have told us anything anyway. Guess we’ll have to try Gasp—”  
Solas slammed a barrier up as another Venatori hurtled around the corner, but the agent fell dead in front of them. A masked woman walked casually up to them.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” she sneered, “Slumming it in the servants’ quarters with the rest of your people. For once.”  
He could see the hurt in the Inquisitor, her shoulders drawing slightly in, her nails picking at the wood of her staff. But she didn’t protest or try to defend herself.  
“I am Ambassador Briala. I expected to meet with you at some point tonight— but not here. I came to find my missing people.”  
“Then I am sorry. We are both too late. Both your people and the servants are gone.”  
“The emissary to the Council of Heralds as well, it seems,” said Briala.

“She’s sure broken up about her dead men, isn’t she?” muttered Varric. “I think the Inquisitor cares more about them than she does.”  
“She’s in a difficult spot,” said Iron Bull. “She can’t really hope to win a better life for the elves with her tactics, but they are desperate enough to try. To lash out in some way. Her men knew they’d die in this fight eventually. She knows she will too. She mourned them long ago. Then they put that aside and went to work.”  
“Guess I was just hoping somebody in this palace actually _cared_ what happened outside of it,” said Varric.  
“I think that’s what the Inquisitor was hoping too.” Solas watched the two elves speaking on the balcony. “I was opposed to entertaining her threat of leaving them to Corypheus at first, but I find myself becoming rather fond of the idea as the night progresses.”  
Iron Bull shook his head. “If it were just the palace, sure. Let ‘em kill each other and be done with it. But a weak Orlais starts drawing attention from Tevinter. Among others. And a Tevinter invasion means Par Vollen gets involved and— and it would be better if everyone just stays in their own areas. We have to fix this. One way or another.”

Briala launched off the balcony and the Inquisitor walked back toward them, a clear expression of distaste on her face. “Come on, let’s get out of here. The sooner we finish this and leave these people behind, the better. Time to see what Gaspard has to say for himself.”  
Solas handed her the bloody dagger and they made their way back toward the party. “Uh, Boss, you got something—” Iron Bull pointed to the spatter on her skin. “Not that I mind, it’s kind of hot. But the Orlesians seem to dislike dirt.”  
“Perhaps we should stop in the kitchen— we could all use a moment to refresh,” said Solas as Varric scrubbed his shoe across the garden’s short grass, trying to get the blood off.  
“I’ve half a mind to leave it,” grumbled the Inquisitor. “Maybe Celene would finally take the assassination attempt seriously if we showed up in the ballroom covered in gore.”  
“I like the way you think, but I doubt the Empress could do much even if she _did_ believe us. She’s spent too much political favor to organize the peace talks. She can’t allow anything to disturb them now,” said Bull. “It would just tip our hand before we’re ready. Unless you’re sure it’s Gaspard?”  
“I’m not. I feel like we’re being led around by the nose, but I can see no alternative for the moment.”

Solas was restless. Any of the servants who knew anything were already dead or realized by now, that they needed to keep their mouths shut. The nobility ignored him, which would have been amusing, but he had heard all the threadbare gossip before. Same stories, different names. He craved a surprise and he was intensely curious where the night was heading. The Inquisitor was still in the ballroom and the others had wandered off betting on which of the young nobles were bedding each other. He was about to seek out the Inquisitor when Dorian found him. “Oh, you are never going to guess what I found out,” he smirked.  
“Thought you’d be lost in the library by now,” said Solas.  
“Did that hours ago. It’s filled with novels and Chantry propaganda. The real stuff must be at the university. No, no, I’ve found something better. About our dear Madame.”  
“If it’s something sordid about her relationship—”  
“No, nothing so dull as that. Come now, Solas, don’t be a spoil sport. Cole noticed first— ah, I knew that would get your attention. He started talking about a barbarian witch and Vivienne snapped at him.”  
“That is unsurprising.”  
“Yes, but then I got the entire story. Vivienne was groomed for years to be the Empress’s arcane adviser. Long before Celene took the throne. It was meant to be purely ornamental. Little more than a court jester, but Vivienne wheedled more and more power out of the position. Took decades. And favors. And money. It’s no secret that our darling Vivienne is a shrewd player, but I didn’t realize how tenacious she is. So all is finally, finally going her way and Celene is even more dependent upon Vivienne than tradition demands. When out of nowhere, a strange mage shows up in court. The rumors that follow her are legion. That she’s one of the Hero of Ferelden’s companions. That she’s Chasind. That she’s an apostate. That she’s a shapeshifter. That she is Flemeth’s creature.”  
“People talking does not signify truth,” scowled Solas.  
“No, but it might create some. The rumors were powerful enough that this woman, Morrigan, ascended to the position Vivienne had coveted for years within a matter of weeks. Some say she enchanted Celene, that she rules Orlais through Celene’s mouth. But we know how those things start, and how often there is nothing behind them.”  
“Then why are you telling me all this, Dorian? You know I care little for gossip.”  
“Yes, my friend, I realize the concerns of mere mortals are below your notice. Except, of course, for the Inquisitor. Which is why I brought it up. It seems that this Morrigan has turned her interest toward the Inquisition. It was her that gave the Inquisitor the key to the servants’ quarters and urged her to investigate. She claims to be protecting Celene from the assassin and cannot leave her side, but I haven’t had even a whiff of magic from her all night and she has not entered the ballroom this evening, though Celene has not left it.”  
“That is no crime. Apostates are hardly welcome in the seat of the Southern Chantry. Neither you or I have entered the ballroom either.”

Dorian smoothed his mustache. “True. She has done nothing overt. Yet I get the distinct impression that all these people approaching Lavellan are eyeing her the way rats eye the mast on a sinking ship. Morrigan fears the wind does not blow her way and she wants to create an obligation on the part of the Inquisitor. If she really is enchanting Celene—” He broke off, smiling at the approaching Inquisitor.  
“Keep an eye on Morrigan, Dorian,” he whispered, “I don’t know what her end design might be, but too many are trying to manipulate the Inquisition. If I had time, I’d chase her down myself, but—” He broke off as the Inquisitor closed the distance between them.  
“We are being invited to explore the royal wing,” she said bitterly. “Somehow, I think I can predict what we will find there. I’m getting awfully tired of feeling like a pawn.”  
“Don’t fret, sorora. Even a pawn can check a king. I will make certain no one enters behind you.” Dorian offered her his arm.  
“I will meet you in a moment. Iron Bull and Varric are waiting nearby.” Solas bowed, now hyper-aware of the eyes upon them.

The Royal Wing was deceptively quiet at first, and Varric fiddled with the statue mechanism around an ornate door until a scream rolled across the corridor. Iron Bull barreled into the chamber door, cracking it in two. Lightning arced from the Inquisitor’s hand and another cry echoed over the marble as another Venatori assassin went tumbling out of the high window. An elf sat cowering on the floor and the Inquisitor helped her gently up.  
“Are you injured?” she asked.  
“I— no. Just _stupid_ ,” the elf scowled. “I should never have listened to Briala.”  
“Briala sent you here?”  
“I received an order to search this room. I— I’m not even certain what I’m supposed to be looking for. How could I be this inept?”  
“Trusting your commander is not inept. Perhaps it was a mistake— perhaps she didn’t know there would be anyone here. We did not expect anyone.” The Inquisitor brushed the cobwebs off of the elf’s clothing and picked up the dagger that had been wrenched away from her by the assassin.  
“It was no mistake,” spat the elf. “I’ve known Briala for a long time. I’m one of the last who knew her from before. When she and Celene were lovers. When she was sleeping with the woman who slaughtered us. Briala pretends to protect us. We believe her, we follow her, because what choice do we have? A poor leader is better than none at all. She doesn’t care about us. She just wants to regain her status.”  
“I— I’m sorry,” stuttered the Inquisitor. “I wish I knew what to do. I had no idea things were so bad.”  
The elf looked surprised. “You mean it matters to you? I thought the Dalish disowned us. Thought we were all flat-ears and traitors to you. But—” she turned to look at the others. “You travel with outsiders too. A clan would never allow that.”  
“The Inquisition is trying to help all of the people of Thedas, not just the Dalish. We don’t always succeed.”  
The elf grasped the Inquisitor’s shoulders. “But you are _trying_. We’ve heard stories about you— how you saved all the workers in Haven. How you accepted the mages as equal. How you welcome everyone into Skyhold.” She paused with a sly smile. “What you threatened to do to the Duke. Many of us would follow you, no matter what Briala thought best.”

The Inquisitor hesitated. She was still unwilling to put herself above anyone and the willingness of people to submit to her made her clearly uncomfortable. Solas coughed and the elf turned to look at him. “The Inquisition needs allies. Partners. You have the means to empower yourself now. Testify about what you know, the relationship between Celene and Briala. Let Orlais see that you are not going to allow yourselves to simply be swept under the rug when convenient. The Inquisition will stand by you.”  
“Go see Commander Cullen in the ballroom, he’ll get you to safety,” said the Inquisitor. The elf nodded and sprinted away.

Iron Bull shook his head. “These people deserve each other. Who sends their own men to die just to keep them quiet?”  
“It’s worse than that,” said the Inquisitor. “Briala knew Gaspard was smuggling in chevaliers and told no one. If Gaspard really is behind the assassination attempt then Briala is just as guilty as he is.”  
“This party is terrible, Inquisitor. Let’s never come here again.” Varric wandered back to the door he’d been fiddling with, pressing the last carving into place. “Never mind,” he called as the others stopped to inspect some papers on a nearby desk, “it just got a lot more interesting.”

Solas followed the Inquisitor up a small stair. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she said, quickly turning her head and blushing, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” She tried to pull his arm and grabbed Iron Bull to make them turn back, but it was too late. Iron Bull was laughing at the naked man on the bed.  
“Don’t go,” called the man, “it isn’t what it looks like! I mean, it _is_ but it never got that far— Andraste’s knickers. Just untie me already.”  
“There has to be a story here,” said Varric.  
The man sighed. “Celene seduced me—”  
“You’re certain it was _Celene_ doing the seducing?” asked Solas.  
“Yes— well, she promised me a reward if I betrayed the Duke. I just— expected something different.”  
“And what did you tell her?” asked the Inquisitor looking at the ceiling.  
“Everything,” groaned the man. “All the troop movements, all the attack signals, the names of all the chevaliers. She knows when, how, where. The Duke is walking straight into a trap. If he survives, he’ll kill me.”  
“Then you are fortunate that we need your word against Celene,” said Solas, “otherwise we might have let him have you.”

He untied the man’s feet and tossed a blanket at him as Varric sliced the ropes around his wrist.  
The man slunk away and the Inquisitor began laughing. “What was the helmet for?” she managed to gasp at last.  
Iron Bull chuckled. “That’s right, Boss, focus on the important questions.”  
“I doubt we want to know, vhenan,” Solas said dryly.

The Inquisitor hissed sharply and the anchor pulsed with bright light.  
“Uh, Chuckles— why’s it doing that? It hasn’t done that since we shut the Breach. Thought it only did that when a new rift opened.”  
He frowned. “As far as I know, that’s correct. May I?” She lifted her hand into his.  
“Shit. Does that mean Corypheus is coming to do this personally?” Varric racked back a bolt in his crossbow.  
“Hope the others are paying attention,” rumbled Iron Bull.  
“Come,” she said gently, “we have no time to worry about a little sting.” She pulled away from him and hurried down the steps and into the hallway.

Florianne was waiting in the courtyard. The glow of the rift rippling over the heads of several Venatori. Was there anyone in Orlais who wasn’t rotten to the bone? Solas felt his face curling in disgust and fought to maintain a neutral expression. But the Inquisitor was through playing the confused bumpkin. Her shoulders just sagged and all she asked was: “Why, Florianne?”  
“Why wouldn’t I? Corypheus rewards loyalty. When he has ascended, I will rule all of Thedas in his name. A new Divine with a god who does not ignore us. Why do you resist him, Inquisitor? You have a mighty gift and you would rise quickly if you were on his side. Why do you struggle to maintain an old, exhausted tradition that doesn’t even recognize you? That you don’t even believe in? For an absent Maker? For the silent elven gods? None of them care. They are all dead. They haven’t done anything in a thousand years. And we all suffer. Corypheus will enter the Black City and he will change it. Answer our prayers. Raise us from the dust where we’ve been cast aside by _lesser_ gods. Why do you fight him?”

For a moment, he saw the Inquisitor hesitate. It sent a painful spike of fear through his heart. Faith had not been a factor he had considered, yet it had so obviously colored her personality all this time. Still, she couldn’t be swayed so easily, could she?  
“Because Corypheus is _cruel_ , Florianne,” she said, as if she’d heard his thoughts. “He does not care about us. About you. He’s tortured the templars, forcing them to consume red lyrium, driving them into a painful madness. He holds the Gray Wardens in an agony of fear, convinces them that they hear the archdemon calling for them constantly. He destroyed Haven, tried to kill all of its citizens. To say nothing of the Conclave itself— I pity you, Florianne. The second child of a discredited house— you have been powerless for a long time. And now you think you have your answer. But Corypheus will never reward you with anything but lies. You hope that when he becomes a god he will become benevolent and peaceful, that giving him what he desires will change him. But handing someone more power never changes them so radically.”  
_Almost never_ , Solas thought, watching her.

“There is still a way out, Duchess. Turn back, call off the attempt, you can change Orlais without Corypheus. You don’t need him—”  
Florianne’s abrupt laughter cut her off. She signaled to the archers and left the balcony, still laughing. The rift exploded and a rage demon boiled up from the earth, immolating the nearby Venatori. Solas pelted it with ice shards, trying to locate the others by their voices around him. Iron Bull smashed into the line of archers, plowing them over with a grunt. He heard Varric shouting taunts behind him, but the Inquisitor’s silence was unsettling. It wasn’t unusual, she seldom wasted breath during battle, but now it seemed ominous. Solas smashed his staff into a frozen Venatori and it shattered in bloody chunks of meat. He spun to find her. She was trying to close the rift and holding off a despair demon at the same time. She wavered and he blasted the demon, drawing its attention. The rift shuddered and crashed closed and the courtyard was silent except for their heavy breaths and the gaping squawk of a captive mercenary.

“You Gaspard’s?” she said, releasing the man.  
“I was. But he doesn’t pay me enough for this mess. He was going to move on the Empress tonight.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” said Varric, “we know. Old story.”  
“Find Commander Cullen and let him know. Though, I almost think we don’t need you at this point.” She rubbed her temples. “It’s time to finish this. Not stopping to clean up this time. Let them see how bloody peace talks can get.”

He hovered near the balcony, unwilling to stray far. The others had stayed for the fireworks, grimly satisfied at Florianne’s disastrous fall, but Solas was worried about the Inquisitor. She’d been shaken, though whether it was by Florianne or the sheer number of lies or by the feeling of powerlessness she’d experienced the previous night, he was unsure. It didn’t matter. Relieving her distress would only happen when they left the palace behind. He paced until Leliana handed him a handkerchief. It irritated him, half of him wanted to continue wearing the viscera as war paint while the other half was uncomfortable with the stickiness and smell. He opted to clean off his face and hands, vigorously scrubbing his fingers as the Empress emerged with both Gaspard and Briala.

“Maker’s breath,” said Cullen, “she’s actually done it. She’s insane. This is never going to work. They’ll be at each other’s throats in a week.”  
“Not if we have anything to say about it,” grinned Leliana, holding up a stack of paper. “We have dirt on everyone here. Nobody would dare go against the Inquisition’s requests now.”  
“So we are running Orlais now?” asked Solas.  
“No, we are just making occasional suggestions. For example, we will suggest that the Inquisitor would like to take a tour through the renovated low quarter in three months,” said Josephine.  
Celene’s speech ended with vigorous applause. The Inquisitor disappeared from view and Solas paced the ballroom perimeter looking for her. He found Dorian instead.

“I tried to distract her, but that woman is scary. Morrigan’s got her alone,” he said.  
“Where?”  
Dorian pointed to one of the doorways and Solas pushed through the crowd to reach it.  
“I shall meet you at Skyhold.” He heard the strange voice float through the door and passed the woman with what he hoped was a subtle glance.  
The Inquisitor was leaning against a railing, rubbing her ankle with one hand. “I thought I’d find you out here,” he said. “Why do you look so unhappy? You did what nobody believed you could do. Celene and Gaspard are working together, Briala will have some say over elven issues at court, the assassination was thwarted. You have won many inches tonight.”  
“Then why does it feel like I’ve been running just to stand still this entire time? Things will fall apart again. A month? A year? They cannot agree on much of anything. I fear we will be stuck intervening until the Inquisition is gone.”  
“Is that so awful? Hasn’t the Inquisition already done more in one evening for the people of Orlais than those three have done in the past year? I do not fear power in your hands, vhenan. You always seem to know when to let it go. So,” he pulled her hands gently from the rail and into his. “Let go, my love. Come and dance with me, before the band stops playing. I need a reason to have you nearby, to speak with you, to touch you.”  
She smiled at his gentle tease and let him lead her into the slow steps. “No more waiting for reasons,” she said tilting her face up to look at him. Solas would swear to the end of his days that for a few moments, the sky had rained silver blossoms and her mouth had still tasted of apples and honey.


	32. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f-9pZrcsuug&index=18&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

The processional from the city was long and loud. Solas looked forward to the point where the small delegation would split off from the rest of the Inquisition and head for the Western Approach. Though it was regrettable that they had no time for rest at Skyhold, the relative quiet of the journey would put him more at ease. The Inquisitor, as well, he suspected. And it was preferable to the victory tour Josephine had planned for the others. He waited until the gates of Halamshiral were out of sight behind them before making his way toward the head of the column.

  
“Look, kid, I just can’t. It’s like— it’s like someone born blind who asks me to describe the color of the sun. Even if I could get it right, it would only confuse her. Or me. Or both.” Iron Bull scraped the base of his horns in frustration.  
The comment would have passed out of Solas’s memory if he had not caught Cole’s response as he passed them.

“She doesn’t care if it’s _right_. The Inquisitor has no desire to join the Qun. She’s just looking for comfort. She wants to know what you tell yourself, what you tell the Chargers before the heat of battle drives out the terror.”  
Solas gently pulled the horse into a slow walk, unwilling to move out of earshot.  
“I don’t know, Cole. I haven’t thought about it in so long— how can she be frightened? She’s never so much as blinked before a fight. Not even in Haven.”  
The boy looked toward the front of the column, his gaze distant and sad. “She has been. Every day, every night since the explosion. It eats at her, an ocean of fear over the stone of her. She pretends, but it is breaking her. She wants to push back.”

Solas gave no sign that he was listening, but guilt twisted in him, a sharp spiral drill of regret.  
“So why doesn’t she ask you, then?” asked Iron Bull.  
“Because she thinks I know the truth. And she isn’t certain that the truth is what she wants to hear.”  
_That is unlike her,_ he thought.

  
Bull grunted. “And do you know the truth?” he asked at length.  
“No. You all think that I do, but I know no more than you. When spirits die, it is— different.”  
_Death? That is what frightens her?_ Solas was at a loss. It had never been a concern. Not before the Veil. And since he’d woken— his own end had been so small compared to everything else. He’d refused to even accept the possibility. He was powerless to comfort her in this.

  
“Why doesn’t she ask someone else then? Cassandra would drool for the chance.”  
“The Inquisitor asked her months ago. But Corypheus— she is torn. Half of her wants to dismiss everything he says as a lie—” started Cole.  
“It is,” grumbled Bull.  
“The other half longs to believe he is acting out of despair, out of grief. That he isn’t as purely evil as he appears.”  
Iron Bull was silent for a moment. Solas could hold back no longer. “Why?” he asked, turning his head toward them. “Why does she want to believe he is anything but— _wrong_?”  
Cole looked at him for a long moment. “We should all of us be pleased that she is unwilling to accept that Corypheus is simply evil for the sake of it. That he just appeared this way. That he is not redeemable. We all have some ugliness in us. I am grateful that she is blind to it. Aren’t you, Solas?”  
He felt a prickle of unease crawl over him as Cole stared. Iron Bull seemed to sense something had passed between them, but Solas was certain he’d never know what.

“Has she asked _you_ yet? Thought you’d be first. What did you tell her?”  
“She did not ask me,” he said, feeling a pang of disappointment despite knowing he could not help.  
“She will not,” said Cole, looking away from him. “She thinks you will judge her a fool. A coward. She thinks you will turn away. She will not ask. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you.”  
He was silent, uncertain what to say. He wanted to be irritated that she doubted him, but how could he? He hadn’t given her much reason to trust him, whether she knew it or not. Something in her, some sense that his evasions and stories couldn’t touch, something _knew_ and kept her apart. Kept her from asking him for the truth. Kept her from offering some of her own. Yet she’d _tried_ to ask him. The night he’d told her of the focus, she’d told him what Corypheus had said about entering the City, about his tale of empty thrones. She’d been asking for him to deny it, to tell her a different version. But he’d been too worried about what it meant for Arlathen to think what it had meant to _her_. She’d tried again, that golden morning in the fetid Mire. She’d said again that Corypheus had frightened her. Not because of himself, though it would have been a moment’s work to crush her. No, it had been what he’d said, what he’d _believed_. That they were utterly alone. That _she_ was utterly alone, a mistake, a freak chance of nature. That she meant nothing, that she’d return to nothing when all this was over. How had he not heard?

“Excuse me,” he said abruptly, and urged his horse into a faster pace, weaving through the column to find her.  
The Inquisitor smiled when she caught sight of him. “If you are here to wheedle a detour to that arcane library that Dorian keeps asking about, you can tell him and Varric to try their luck with Josephine. You and I will be long gone by the time the rest of the Inquisition gets to Montsimmard.”  
“I thought Varric did the wheedling,” he joked, though his heart wasn’t in it.  
She shrugged. “One of these days they’ll realize they ought to send the handsome one for the favors.”  
Blackwall laughed beside her. He felt his face redden, but he was not displeased.

“Where are Varric and Dorian? I thought they’d be arguing about winnings for the outrageous wagers they were making at the ball.”  
“They are with Leliana and Josephine in the carriage,” rumbled Blackwall. “That woman— Morrigan, guess she knows Leliana from years back. They don’t seem friendly. And Vivienne seems to be put off by her too. Varric is riding with them to keep the peace. Dorian too, I guess.”  
_Keeping an eye on Morrigan_ , thought Solas, with relief. He hadn’t been informed that she would be traveling with the Inquisition. All the more reason to be grateful they would separate from the main party in the morning.

“I know it’s not my place, Inquisitor…” Blackwall trailed off.  
The Inquisitor shook her head. “I’m an elf from the Marches, Blackwall. I’ve starved and done rough work— rougher still since the Mark, I even stole a loaf of bread from a baker’s window sill once. Whatever place you think you are in, we can’t be so far apart, you and I. Besides, whatever you would say, I wish to hear it. A cat may look at a king, after all.”  
“It’s just— this Morrigan woman, she’s meant to be the Empress’s personal aide, right? Why would she just send her valued adviser to tag around after us? Especially when we already have the woman who was _meant_ to have the position in our company?”  
“You think she’s a spy,” said the Inquisitor. “Let her join the others. They can trip over each other. Besides, it isn’t as if we are trying to hide what we’re doing.”  
“The others?” asked Blackwall.  
“Well, there’s obviously Bull and all the Chargers, but we all knew that. And Leliana isn’t above spying on her own to make certain we’re all behaving. Half of Josephine’s notes could have told me that. And let’s not forget Mother Giselle. She is soft spoken and seems willing to bend where others will not, but I’ve no doubt she’s been moving pieces behind the scenes. How else do you think Cassandra and Leliana ended up as candidates for the Divine? They are both too radical to do it on their own, even with their connections. And the Red Jennies, both the king of Ferelden and now the empress of Orlais, and who knows what else. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out Scout Harding’s been sending notes back to Orzammar.” She paused and shook her head. “I take that back, that one would surprise me. I half expected you to be sending word back to the Wardens, though. The Inquisition is riddled. It’s one of the reasons I knew we couldn’t hide Skyhold.”  
“I’m no spy!” Blackwall protested.  
“You _knew_?” interrupted Solas.  
“Come now, Solas. I was sent to the Conclave along with a thousand other spies and a disaster that shook Thedas to its core happened. Is it such a leap to expect others to be interested in what we are up to? We are rapidly becoming the largest military force in the entire region.”  
“How long have you known?”  
She thought for a moment. “I’m uncertain. I know I didn’t worry about it until after Haven. I really didn’t expect it to be my problem before then.”

“I am many things, Inquisitor,” fumed Blackwall, “but disloyal is not one. I am no spy.”  
She reached to pat his arm. “I know, Warden. You were as shocked as I at Stroud’s news. But as I said, we’ve nothing to hide. We’re too big to move secretly now, and the people need us to be a pillar of hope. We could not do that in the shadows. Let her send word back to Orlais. Maybe it will make them honor their promises.” Her expression twisted as if she’d tasted something sour. “But your caution is appreciated, and I will watch her until we know better what she means to do.”  
Blackwall nodded, approving. They rode in easy silence for some time, all three being generally quiet at the best of times. Solas would normally have found it a comfortable change from the near endless noise of Halamshiral, but he feared her silence was one of turmoil instead of peace and itched to find something useful to say.

But it was the Inquisitor who spoke first. She waited until Sera came to find Blackwall and they fell behind, mixing into the crowd of the column. “What troubles you, fanor?”  
He reached for her, his fingers brushed over her knee before their horses curved an inch too far from one another again. “Do you remember what you asked after we camped in the Mire? After the dead attacked us?”  
She thought for a moment. “We spoke of many things.”  
“You asked why the dead lingered there, why Falon’din hadn’t led them away.”  
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes, I remember.” She was wary now, bristling, anticipating something mean or harsh. He ached with sadness to see it.  
“I know a story, if you wish to hear it, about Falon’din. About the roads beyond the Veil.”  
“Iron Bull told you,” she said flatly.  
“I wish _you_ had told me.”

She looked away from him, off the trail into the deep woods. “I do not want you to be ashamed of me. I know it is a weakness. And irrational. That I reach for something that may not be there at all.”  
“There is nothing shameful in this. I do not treat Cassandra with scorn— nor Cullen or even Varric, do I?”  
She shook her head. He was frustrated with his horse, trying to urge it closer to her.  
“Questioning one’s purpose, one’s meaning in the face of death is natural. Something all mortals do. Faith is only dangerous if you close your mind to other possibilities. Other explanations. That you seek answers from others, from people outside your clan, is a _strength_. It is not weak and it is not irrational.”  
She looked down at her hand, the reins cutting across the glow of the Anchor. “It is strange, Sera joined us to prove to herself that all of this: spirits, magic, gods, that none of it’s real. And the others keep hoping that it will prove all of it is real. It would be so much easier if I could choose one way or another. The uncertainty is what terrifies me.”  
“It would be easier, yes. But it would not be you.”

She glanced up, twisting to look behind them, checking the distance between themselves and the others. “It isn’t only death that scares me,” she admitted in a low voice.  
“What then, Vhenan?” he managed to close the distance between them, reaching to touch the side of her face. “Tell me, let me help if I can. Do not be alone.”  
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Corypheus was like me, once. He wondered. He wanted to know, to be certain.”  
The horror in her tone chilled him and sympathy wrenched his chest.  
“No, my love, Corypheus was _never_ like you. And you will never be him. He never—” the horses pulled apart again and Solas swore under his breath. “I cannot speak with you like this. There are too many ears listening and— and we are too distant,” he hissed, knowing he might only be making it worse. “Please, put it from your mind for now. Trust me when I say _that_ is something you need never fear. We will speak of this later.”  
She offered him a weak smile as his horse finally lost patience and broke into a run for several paces, pulling him far down the road. Between being persuaded to relieve Varric in the carriage and the crowds that pressed the Inquisitor to stop in every village, he didn’t make it back to her before they stopped at the inn. She lingered in the stables, waiting for him.

“I did not mean to leave it like that,” he said, catching her hand at last. “The horse— may the Void—” he halted, regretting it immediately. _Idiot_ , he told himself, _as if bringing up the Void would help_.  
But she seemed to brush it off. “This— worry— is nothing new. And most days it is easily pushed aside. It only seems important because I asked Iron Bull to help.”  
“That it is an old fear makes it worse, Vhenan. I don’t know if I am able to help you face your mortality, it seems I am— ill-prepared and as ignorant about it as anyone. But I can promise you that becoming like the enemy is not in your future. I have something to show you, and there are subjects we must—”  
Iron Bull’s voice cut through the stable and she stepped back, startled. “Yeah, kid, I’m going. Just— give me a minute.”  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered quickly.  
“Don’t be. You have many claims on your time. I will find you later, when it is quiet.” He nodded to Iron Bull and gave her hand a parting caress before releasing it.

Cole was pacing in the courtyard. Solas felt like mirroring him. “Come to dinner, Cole,” he said instead.  
“It is a good plan,” said the boy just before they reached the inn door. “Telling her.”  
“It is a foolish plan. I fear it may only make things worse. It is too large, all at once. I will only begin to tell her. What comes after, how much she chooses to acknowledge—” he stalled.  
“It cannot make things worse. The panic is cold, like the avalanche in Haven. Like she’s already buried. It leaves her gasping in the dark when no one else can see, as if she was drowning in the snow. It has never been so heavy. And Iron Bull tells her about swords. She does not understand swords. But she will understand Arlathan, Solas.”  
“I have never taken anyone there. Except for the magisters that forced their way in, no mortal has ever entered it. And now, with the blight corrupting it, it would be too dangerous for her.”  
Cole thought for a moment. “I wish I could be Wisdom for you, but I cannot. I think it would be pleased that you are ready to show her the truth. I think it would tell you that it was better to know than to be confused and lost. But it would worry, too. Perhaps you can show her what happened without risking her? A memory instead of the city itself?”  
Solas smiled. “Thank you, Cole, that was incredibly helpful.”  
“Good.” The boy sagged a little. “Iron Bull is telling her about trees now. He thinks she will like that. But she knows the tree will be okay. She’s not sure about the leaf. Her life is all autumn. Except for _you_.”

“I am not certain that this is something I can aid her in. It is a fear I have never experienced directly.”  
“You have. The first time was long, long ago, before sleep, but it shouts inside you. The last was only a few days ago. Everything is red, it cracks like drying blood and pries you apart with dead music. What will happen to them when you are gone? What will happen to you if you fail? When you have lost her? You are shadows of each other, echoes of the same cry. You know her worry, you’ve carried it for centuries. The others— death is their companion from the start, but when they go, it is as The Iron Bull says. They are leaves, the tree was there before them and it will go on long after them. They can be peaceful in the end, set the world aside when it is done with them. But the Inquisitor and _you_ , you are taproots. Tell her. Tell her so that she knows the doesn’t hold up the entire thing alone.”  
“And if— if I cannot? Will you honor your resolution to keep my secret?” A prickle built under Solas’s skin, a wild, desperate burst of power, the impulse of a cornered creature.  
Cole just stared at him for a long moment. “When it helps them to know, then I would tell them. Unless you mean to compel me. To bind me to silence and twist me out of who I am. Would you do that to me? See me meet Wisdom’s fate?”  
The surge faded and Solas took a step back. “No, Cole. I would not,” he said and looked away. “I will tell her. I will try. But it cannot be thrown upon her all at once, it’s too much.”  
He turned back to the boy, only to find he had gone.


	33. The Golden City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBGpSI9lBzg&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=17

He stood a long while outside her door. The inn’s floor was ancient and her footsteps creaked, soft though they were. It was late, even for her. She would have little rest before heading to the Western Approach and he hesitated to steal more of it in something as unpleasant as he had resolved to show her.

He pressed his palm onto the panel of the door and leaned on it. He tried to press the moment into him, the memory of it. It was, perhaps, the last in which she’d love him. _She’s told me it’s better to know than to wonder_ , he urged himself, _let it be true for me as well_. He rapped gently on the door. It opened and he folded his hands behind his back because the desire to touch her overwhelmed him. He could not, not that night. Not until she knew.

“Solas— I had forgotten you wanted to show me something. About Falon’din, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, my thoughts are scattered today.”  
“You need to rest,” he said gently.  
“I need _you_.” She pulled him into the room and he could not bring himself to step back, though he knew he must. She melted around him, threading her arms through the loops of his, and he gave up, returning the embrace, matching her warmth.

“Iron Bull did not help?”  
“He tried. The fault was mine. I could not understand. Or maybe I didn’t want to understand.” She pulled away first, shame-faced, wrapping her arms around her own chest. “I’m such a coward,” she muttered.  
He turned to shut the door, an excuse to gather himself again, to delay the comfort of touch he knew they both needed.

“It is not experiencing fear that makes a person brave or cowardly, Vhenan. It is their actions that determine it. You are not a coward. Last night— when Florianne challenged you, when she asked why you bothered to resist, I saw your hesitation. As if it were something you’d asked yourself often. I did not think you were cowardly for it. I was not— _am_ not ashamed for you. It is how I know you are completely unlike Corypheus. How I know it is impossible for you ever to become like him.” He took a step toward her, hovering over her. She would not look at him. “Doubt is a sign of an open mind. You question and you wonder. You have not let prejudice color your decisions. Or fear—” he pulled her chin gently toward his face. “All this time?”  
“Yes. Since Cassandra told me the Mark was the only thing that could close the Breach. And I— I gave you that letter for my clan.”

His shoulders curled in as if she’d given him a sudden blow to the gut. “I’m _sorry_ , Vhenan.”  
Her hand was swift and smooth as it slid over his cheek. “Solas, you don’t have to be sorry. You’ve done nothing but aid us—”  
He shook his head. “I have not done enough. We have much to speak of.” He led her to the small bed. “What I have to show you must happen in the Fade.” His thumb glided over the skin of her hand, though whether he meant to offer comfort or take it, he was uncertain. “It will not be— it will not be like Haven, my love. It will not be pleasant. But I hope it will give you some peace.” He released her hand as she sank to sit on the bed. “I will find you, once you are sleeping.” He turned toward the door, but she grabbed his arm.

“Stay?”  
“We are not yet home. Nor alone in the wild. There are many eyes upon you and if…”  
She let him go. “I did not mean to embarrass you. It is only— I always find it a comfort to see a friend after a bad dream. I thought it might be the same for you.”  
She was like ivy, like water or wind. Always seeking out the cracks, the spots where his resolution was weakest and curling into them, flowing beneath them, bypassing his shell entirely. He was uncertain why he bothered making himself promises anymore, they were next to useless when they met any opposition from her. And she didn’t even know it. He sat down beside her.

“Yes. That would be a great comfort,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t regret asking, that she’d never regret him.  
She leaned to the small bedside table and blew out the candle. He felt her hand on his chest, twisting him gently down. The bed creaked as she settled beside him. She made no move to kiss him or touch him, afraid to push, and he was grateful not to have to discourage her. He reached for her, folding her close. He found the edge of her ear with the pad of one finger. “Ahnsal gara, Vhenan, ar lath ma,” he said and his chest heaved with a suppressed sob.  
“Solas,” she cried, “you do not have to do this—”  
“I do. For both of us. Do not mind my melancholy— all will be as it ought to. Everything will look better in the morning.”

He smoothed her hair and managed to calm his own breathing into long, tidal waves of air. The soft press of her belly and chest advanced and retreated against him as her breath slowed along with his. He grazed her face with his hand, the fragile silk flesh of her eyelid unflinching as his palm crossed it. She was already deeply asleep. He closed his own eyes and let himself slide into the Fade.

  
She was so easy to find, even in the chaos. Solas did not normally have trouble finding whatever he sought, but she was like a lighthouse, a pole star. He didn’t even need to try, and he wondered if she appeared so only to him, or to anyone that bothered to look. He found her already in a strange nightmare. She was sprinting around a massive tree, trying desperately to catch a shower of leaves, each screaming in a different voice. Her hands were empty, she’d not managed to save even one. He felt a wave of exasperation and anger at Iron Bull both for attempting to explain the Qun to her and for doing it so badly.

“Vhenan,” he called over the shrieking leaves.  
She glanced up but went on running. “Don’t step on them, Solas! We have to save them.”  
He caught her as she tried to race by him. “It is a dream. There is no one hurt—”  
She was ignoring him, reaching past him.  
“Look at me, my love,” he commanded, “the Fade reacts to you. You can control this. Focus on what you want, not what you fear.”  
She stared at him and he met her eyes, the tree dissolving around them. “Good,” he said, “another time we will practice altering your dreams to your own wishes, but banishing the bad ones is enough for now.”  
She smiled. “But Solas— I _did_. You told me to focus on what I wanted.”  
He laughed. “You are too easily pleased then.”  
“You think so? I have found it a mighty task to obtain what I desire— but as you’ve said, everything is easier here.” She kissed him, this time a touch bolder than the first, but still there was a hesitance, a shyness to it. He met her this time, matched her. “You were right,” she laughed when they parted.  
“If it were any other night, we could stay, I could give you— anything, _everything_.”  
Her smile shrank. “But we have work to do,” she stepped back, but kept her hand curled inside his own.  
“Yes.”  
“Lead on, I am ready.”

_I doubt that, my heart_ , he thought, but began folding the Fade until he found the memory he was looking for. It was a struggle not to overlay his memory onto the city, to let it appear to her as it had when the Tevinter mages had entered it. He wished her first sight of it had been a restored, vibrant, vital place. Instead, it was the ruin he’d barely escaped. Still, a sharp inward breath beside him made him turn to her. His city was a shining reflection in her eyes.

The shattered crystals of Elgar’nan’s temple sparkled and flamed in the sunset, kept bound together by climbing vines that reached the tower’s gaping roof. The broken square was a jumble of bright tiles and dry fountains. But she did not see the destruction, it wasn’t visible to her. His own sorrow waned and bled away in the face of her wonder. How had he hesitated to show her this?

“Where are we?” she murmured.  
“In a memory from long, long ago. We are in the Golden City.”  
Her attention snapped back to him. “That’s impossible. The City is unreachable and it is— _wrong_ for us to be here.”  
The idea that she could be wrong _here_ , that she could not belong to it, part of the cloth from which it was woven— he immediately rejected it. There was no place that belonged to him where she would be unwelcome. There was no one to point out that he had felt very differently not so long before.  
“It is a memory only, Vhenan. No more than a play of shadows. We cannot alter what has happened any more than anything here may harm us. I would not expose you to danger without warning you. But witnessing what occurred can be useful, especially in this case”  
He felt the tension in her hand ease and she began to look at their surroundings more intently.

They picked their way through the city, climbing over rubble and massive tree roots. He followed her, letting her wander, knowing it was the fabled seat of the Maker that she sought and would not find. At last, she spoke again. “If this is the Golden City, why does the architecture not match the human cities? Or the villages of the Alamarri?”  
He took a deep breath. The time had come, then. “Because it is elvhen, my love. These are the ruins of Arlathan.”  
She turned slowly, trying to pick out familiar features, trying to prove to herself that what he said was true. “You’ve told me the Fade shows us the reflections of emotions, that no version is more or less true than another. Could this just be a confused memory of someone who had _heard_ about both Arlathan and the Golden City?”  
He nodded. “I am glad that you remember that. It is true that the Fade reflects interpretations, each memory colored by the person who held it— but, in this case, it is an amalgam of the memory of several people. It is easy for one person to remember something differently from another, even to fool themselves into remembering something false. But it is very hard for a large group to remember an event falsely. Inconsistency will crop up, the memory collapse into several competing versions. This one, though— the event made a deep impression. It has not altered with time and I have found no memory that contradicts this one.”  
“But there is nobody here.”  
“There will be, shortly. Hurry, we are almost out of time. The Innkeeper will knock too soon.”

He took her hand again and led her through the city, folding it again to shorten the distance to Andruil’s gate. The oaken panels had rotted away and one of the owls had tipped and shattered across the threshhold. He climbed carefully up the remains of its wing, extending a hand down to help her up.  
“This was Andruil’s land,” he said bitterly as they slid carefully down the rubble into the blighted, barren plain. It was as he remembered. Mythal’s forces had cleared the crystals but the land and beasts had never recovered. It was empty now, the green stone of the square temple the only thing that broke the horizon. She did not ask him how he knew it was Andruil’s, too shocked at the sight to leave room for questions. They would come later, he knew. Sometime in the morning as he held her, or in the howling winds of the Western Approach when they were huddled together.  
“This was not the Tevinters. Not even fire could do this. What has happened, Solas?”  
“Blight. The blight was here. It poisoned everything until it could be pushed back.”  
“They pushed it back? You mean they had Gray Wardens?”  
He scowled. “No. There was nothing so foolish as that. Mythal pushed it back. Her people killed the infected Titan—”  
“Titan?”  
He shook his head. “Another time, emma lath. For now, just know that it came from a large beast. Mythal’s people killed it and sealed away the remains here, but not before the damage was done. Not before the city began to blacken. The Tevinter—” he pointed toward the temple, “are here, in this memory. About to unseal it.”

He ran with her toward the massive structure.  
“Why?” she asked.  
“Because the Blight could give them power,” he spat, his expression darkening. The tree where he had been bound was dust, just a black tracing of roots in the brick of the courtyard, an absence, a forgotten thing. He did not pause to look at the spot it had stood. The doors of the temple remained, but they had been flung down, trampled. Ancient Tevene echoed and snaked through the rooms.

They were in a great lobby, hundreds of branded elves hacking at the great round stone seal that Mythal had placed with her own hands. The seven magisters looked on, arguing amongst themselves.  
“I do not understand what this is meant to accomplish. Surely the Gods meant us to find the arcane libraries, the treasure rooms— what can lie in a dirty dark hole when all this lies around us?” A reedy man whined, kicking one of the elves who had stopped for a rest. Solas saw the Inquisitor flinch, but she drew closer inspecting the faces of the men.

“Simpleton!” spat another. “The City is empty, the Gods are dust, if they ever were. What other proof do you need? We are no longer beholden to them. Our entire lives we’ve labored under a _lie_ , squandering the power of Tevinter on— on superstition and nonsense. There is no Maker, there are _certainly_ no rattus gods, and there is no Dumat or any other. We labor now for our own people, for the glory and power of Tevinter. We will take back what was buried here— and we will build not one city that surpasses this meagre rubble, but many.”

The Inquisitor was circling the man, inspecting him. “It sounds like—” she started.  
“Blasphemy, Corypheus!” shouted one of the other magisters.  
“My name is Amladaris. I will answer to that useless title no longer,” he snapped and the Inquisitor fell back, startled.  
“But I do not recognize his face,” she protested.  
“Regardless,” said another calmly, “You have not told us why we are wasting time here.”  
“Because they had _something_ , some power, some artefact that made others fear and worship them. For centuries. You may go, all of you, if you wish, and plunder the lesser treasuries, loot the paltry tomes of the rattus libraries, but the real power is here. They buried it either because it frightened them or because they did not want their rivals to obtain it. I intend to take it. And anyone that stands in my path shall be wiped away. I did not become Dumat’s priest because a _god_ gave me power, I gained it on my own. I am unleashed and I will not be bound again.” Corypheus shoved the elven slaves aside and began casting a spell, his hands shaking and sparking with the effort. A rending crack shook the temple and the elves scattered as the seal crumbled beneath them. One didn’t make it, clinging to the side of the pit. The Inquisitor reached down trying to help him, forgetting that it was a memory only. Her hand passed through his.

“It has all happened, Vhenan,” said Solas sadly, “They are all beyond our aid.”  
He allowed the memory of the magisters to fade away, leaving them alone in the crumbling temple, the yawning pit glowing ruby with red lyrium between them.  
“What did they find? What is it that they brought back with them? Please, Solas, tell me it is not the Blight, tell me we are not responsible for that as well,” she pleaded. She still knelt where the man had fallen, her face awash in red light, as if she was aflame. _Will she burn for my mistakes? Will she follow the martyr she is claimed for?_

“Solas?” she pressed when he did not answer.  
“I cannot, Vhenan. I cannot tell you that.” He sagged with grief.  
He crossed to her and knelt at her side. “How?” she asked, stricken and shaking.  
“Andruil. She was on a hunt and her quarry led her far, farther than any of the others had ever been. When she returned, she was clad in red lyrium armor and carrying a spear of the same. She was utterly mad and her people, her land, sickened. That is when Mythal drove it back, killed the titan that carried it. Buried it here, so it could not spread. But then—” he waved his hand and the magisters emerged from the tunnel, the remaining slaves burdened with great sacks of the crystals, their eyes already clouding, dark veins slithering through their skin. The magisters fared no better, power and taint pulsing through them and exploding in abuse and anger and madness with each other, the slaves, the stone of the ruins themselves.

“The others were still unconvinced that the Old Gods were myth. Six returned here again and again, going deeper and deeper, searching for them, amassing great armies of corrupted slaves. But Corypheus— Corypheus was certain. He left, bringing the Blight back to Tevinter. He was not so powerful then and was cast down, but remained alive somehow. I am still uncertain how he remains alive after the Wardens and Hawke and ourselves have battled him, have seen him dead. But the damage was done. The Blight was free. It was Wisdom who discovered them and sealed the portal they had used, who prevented worse from happening.” _Because I would not stir from my self-pity_ , he thought.  
“And Wisdom showed you this?” she asked.  
He doubted she could handle more shock in so short a timespan. “Yes,” was all that he said.  
“This memory, this is why you don’t believe in the pantheon?”  
The pity in her face comforted him, she had always been more generous than he when it came to his feelings. “No, emma lath, I knew they were not gods long before I saw this memory. Corypheus has no influence over my beliefs. Nor should you allow him influence over yours.”  
Her eyes widened. “You _knew_? Ho—” She flickered out and he had time to feel a wave of relief before he was jarred out of sleep.


	34. Dawn Lotus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQqyfoeVhq4&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=20

She was shifting under his arm as he woke. He held his breath to see if she would push him away. Instead she tried to pull him closer, her magic tugging and panicked. “Wake up,” she whispered. “Please, Solas, wake up.”  
He opened his eyes. “I’m here, I’m here,” he said, tightening the embrace. “Ir abelas, it was too much.”  
Her face was wet. He wasn’t sure she realized she’d been crying in her sleep.

  
“I did not want to hurt you,” he said. “I wanted to show you that you could never be like him. Do you see?”  
She shook her head.  
“Corypheus did not force his way into the Golden City seeking his gods. He came to overthrow someone else’s. He was certain. He was a true believer, never doubting, utterly devoted to Dumat. And when he discovered that the god he was sent to overthrow didn’t exist and that the elvhen gods didn’t exist, or at least, not as the eternal all powerful beings he had been led to believe, he began to question everything. And it broke him. Utterly. He was mad before the lyrium, Vhenan. Before the Blight, before the orb. When you told Florianne that he was cruel and false, that he had nothing but his own thirst for power in mind, you were right. It is impossible for you to become like him, not because you are incapable of cruelty— everyone is, not even love can blind me to that. It’s because you are unwilling to blindly believe in anything. Because you question and seek and wonder, you will never be shattered as he was. You will never be pushed into trying to replace what you never lost.”  
“But I _am_ ,” she cried, “I am altogether lost. Everything is— I know the stories say they are locked away, hidden, waiting, sleeping— but I hoped, I _hoped_ , Solas, that they could see, that they were watching over us, shielding us from the worst.”

He hesitated. _It’s a mistake_ , he warned himself, _it can only put off the pain, only delay her loss_. But the words flung from him in a frantic attempt to keep her from despair. “There is one left, Vhenan. Fen’harel watches over you. If he has any power at all, he would shield you above all.”  
She laughed. “Why would the Dread Wolf care about me? Claimed for a shemlen saint, leading a hopeless charge against the monster that loosed the Blight on his city? He would hate me. It is probably he that shoved me into the way of Corypheus in the first place and seared this thing into my hand.”  
He kissed her palm. “Yes, it probably _was_ him. But not to harm, never to harm you. Perhaps he gave you the power to defeat the man who defeated _him_. And he could not hate you. No,” he pressed her hand to his cheek, “not if he saw you as you truly are. Anyone who sees you as I do, must love you.”  
Her smile was softer, calmer. “Well, then, Fen’harel will have to get in line. I’m already spoken for.”  
“Yes,” he agreed, drying her cheeks with his thumb, “Fen’harel will have to wait forever.”

Another rap on the door startled them. “Inquisitor,” called Blackwall, “Have you woken?”  
“I’m sorry Blackwall,” she called, “I will be right down.”  
“Right,” he cleared his throat and they could hear it through the drafty door. “Could you— tell Solas we’re ready to go? I mean, if you happen to run into him, of course.”  
“If I see him, I will tell him.” She covered his mouth gently with one hand, expecting him to laugh. “He’s probably as red as a tomato under that beard,” she whispered.  
His eyes crinkled. “You are fortunate that wasn’t Sera,” he whispered into her palm. His smile faded. “I wanted more time to be with you, to speak with you. I fear leaving it like this will only make you worry more.”  
“I cannot pretend I am not shaken. It will take some time to decide how I feel and what it means. But the doubts I had about Corypheus— the hesitation I felt when I thought I might have misunderstood him— that is gone now. And that is a relief. Will you stay close today? I would like to talk with you, if we are able. Not— not about this, perhaps. I just wish to know you are near.”  
“Of course. I would like nothing better than to ride beside you.”

It was a bad day. Blackwall was even more silent than normal, still embarassed by what he’d wrongly assumed. Sera was too groggy to do much except grumble. And the Inquisitor was lost in deep, troubled thought. She caught him watching her occasionally and reached over to touch his hand or gave him a small smile before drifting away again. Solas wished again for Varric and Cole. Cole, at least, would help her, or help Solas to help her. Varric would have broken the stillness, lightened her mood, pulled her from her sadness. He considered whether he could figure out how to do the same. Perhaps it was better this way, giving her a chance to think it over in peace. Unless she was obsessing. He wished he knew.

  
They left the highway to cut across the north coast of Lake Celestine and he watched her loosen, her focus return. A small white flower caught his eye as they reached the shallows, and Solas smiled, certain he knew how to cheer her. He reined in his horse and leapt down.  
The Inquisitor twisted in her saddle. “Solas? Is something wrong?”  
“No, I will catch up in a moment.”

He knelt in the soft bank, reaching for the rattling bell of seeds next to the bloom. He snapped it carefully off and then considered the flower for a long moment. He cracked the pod of seeds open and let one tumble into his hand. With a small spell to help, he pressed it into the warm muck beneath the water, an apology for cutting the flower from its stem. The other seeds he kept for Skyhold. The petals glowed a piercing white in his hand. Arlathan had been redolent with the fragrance but he had not encountered it since. It sent a wave of heartsickness through him. He looked up to see that the Inquisitor had halted a few paces away and was waiting for him.  
Solas walked over to her, tugging his horse gently to make it follow. He held up the flower to her and she leaned down toward him.

“It’s warm,” she said, cupping it in her hands.  
“Yes, it pulls energy from the Fade.”  
“What is it?”  
“A dawn lotus. Once, they covered the surface of any still pond or lake, but now they are extremely rare. It is a shame, they are very useful. In ancient Arlathan, these were—”  
“Shut it droopy ears. Too early for elfy rubbish.”  
“It’s nearly midday Sera,” protested Blackwall as they passed.  
“So? It’s _always_ too early for that shite.”  
Solas shook his head.

“In ancient Arlathan, they were what?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“They were used in a sacred elixir for those who had chosen uthenara.”  
She moved to dismount and he caught her. The camp where they would rest and change mounts for the afternoon was only a moment or two away. “I have heard uthenara mentioned, but I don’t know much about it,” she admitted, tracing the edges of the lotus petals with the tip of a finger.  
“Long ago, before Arlathan fell, the ancient elves chose their ends. After several millennia, when an elder felt they had learned all that this world had to show, they would choose to sleep. While they slept, they entered areas of the Fade that were previously unreachable, discovering and learning and speaking with spirits far removed from Thedas. Some dreamt for a few centuries and returned. Others were drawn deeper and deeper into the Fade, leaving their physical forms to slowly wither into dust.”

“What happened when their bodies died?” She was holding her breath as she watched him. He pulled the lotus from her hand.  
“Nothing, Vhenan. They persisted, their existence in the Fade did not alter. But the dawn lotus elixir,” he twirled the flower in his fingers before threading it into her hair where it glowed like a star, “was used to keep the dreamers alive until they learned to pull the sustenance they needed straight from the Fade. Once a month, it was brushed on the lips of each Dreamer.” He pressed his thumb over her mouth, his mind filled with the taste of cider and honey. “At the end of the month, the attendant would check on the Dreamer. If her breath was still sweet, he would know that the elixir lingered on her lips and she had moved beyond the need for it. These Dreamers were venerated above all and family members would petition them to return and share their knowledge.”

“And now? Is that where we go when our bodies fail?”  
“I wish that I had an answer for you. Much has changed since Elvhenan fell.”  
She nodded, quietly leading her horse toward the outpost. He followed, half a pace behind. “But I cannot imagine that our very essence has altered so completely that _something_ does not endure,” he added.  
“Did they wander the Fade alone? Did they find each other?”  
“Others could be found, if the Dreamer wished.”  
Her hand drifted up to touch the lotus at her temple. “I would find you,” she said simply.

The Inquisitor was visibly calmer as they set out again from the outpost, and relief made Solas patient, even with Sera’s needling. Blackwall relaxed as well, joining in with Sera’s jokes. Solas was too pleased to be irritated. The verdant forests around Lake Celestine gradually gave way to dry grasslands that flamed gold and silver in the afternoon light.

  
“Arrgh,” cried Sera, “so _boring_. First trees and now grass and soon sand. Nothing to stick and nothing to eat and no fun at all.”  
“The scouts sent word of a minor rift not far ahead,” offered the Inquisitor.  
“Well, one out of three is _something_ , I guess,” sighed Sera.  
“I’ll try harder to entertain you next time,” laughed the Inquisitor. “It is just a few miles before camp, so you’ll have excitement _and_ dinner in short order.”

They could see the glow of the rift for almost a mile as it overtook the sunset. None of them preferred to battle at night, but it was growing dark as they reached it and the horses were skittish, unable to see anything beyond the brightness of the rift. They came too close and a rage demon erupted near Solas. The horses scattered and tried to flee but became confused in the dark. He managed to calm his mount enough to jump down and he peered into the dark trying to find the others. A blast of frost crackled past his side and the air rippled as the Inquisitor’s barrier flew up around them. Blackwall slammed into the rage demon, pushing it back from the party. Sera’s own arrows whirred and thunked, each punctuated by a cry on the other end. Solas glanced back at the Inquisitor to see great arcs of lightning spraying from her fingertips. It was over almost before they began breathing heavily. Blackwall began searching for the horses.

Sera wiped a dagger in the grass. “Blech. I _was_ hungry. Ruined the whole afternoon,” she grumbled.  
“Oh Sera,” laughed the Inquisitor as she raised her hand to seal the rift, “In ten minutes you’ll be halfway through an ale and flirting with some pretty scout wildly exaggerating this fight.” She put her other hand onto her horse’s withers as Blackwall led Sera’s past. The anchor’s power threaded through the air. The horse screamed as the rift snapped shut. It startled the Inquisitor and she flinched and stumbled back. The beast wheezed once, took a lurching step sideways and collapsed on top of her.

A shocked cry of pain tore Solas from his paralysis and he sprinted toward her. A fear demon raked its way out of the earth. Blackwall and Sera turned on it. He ignored them. He shoved at the horse’s flank, his hand sinking into the hot mix of blood and flesh where the demon had torn it. It was a panicked, irrational impulse. There was no way he could move it himself. The Inquisitor was struggling to take in a breath as the weight of the horse crushed her chest.

“Fade-step,” she wheezed, her fingers shaking where they were tangled in the dead beast’s mane.  
Solas knelt behind her, gripping her under the arms and slid through the Fade and out again. She gasped in a breath of air as he tumbled backward. Her hands shook as a soft glow gathered in them.

“No, my love, no, you must conserve your energy. This will be bad and I will need your aid,” he said, his own fingers flying over her robes and shoving them aside. The thin leather panels beneath were next. He ripped the lacings from them, too focused to be gentle. Her breath was a sticky, wet crackle below him.  
“How experienced are you in Creation magic?” he asked, not daring to glance at her face. The leather panel fell away, and he pushed her thin shirt up as far as it would go.  
“Creation?” she gasped. He hurled a ball of veilfire onto the sand in order to see.Her chest was sunken, wrong. Darkness spread beneath her skin, spilling like ink.  
“Keeper magic— how many years were you into your apprenticeship?”  
“Old. Past appre—” she ran out of breath.  
“Good,” he said, before she could try to finish the thought. “What you did to the vhenadahl— I need you to cast that spell again, from within.”

She nodded once and closed her eyes. For a moment he thought she might have lost consciousness, but then her chest began to expand. Solas grabbed her marked hand and began to pour power into it, letting her pull on him as she needed. The dark blood pools stopped expanding and her chest began to take the correct shape. But her focus wavered. The pain had begun eating through her shock and she could not concentrate on casting. She tried again, the spell surged and sputtered.

“No more, Vhenan, I will finish.” It was less effective, this way. His spell had to travel, seek out the broken places unlike hers. He risked a glance down at her legs, but it was hard to tell if they were broken or not through the thick leggings she still wore.  
“Shit,” said Sera, hovering over them. Blackwall was right behind her.  
“Don’t. Worry.” The Inquisitor gasped between each word, as if she still couldn’t suck up enough air. The wet, clotting sound was gone though. “Going to. Have Dagna. Make iron ribs. For next time.”  
He let out his own breath as her phrases smoothed and lengthened.

“What can we do?” asked Blackwall.  
Solas frowned, trying to think and concentrate on casting at the same time. The Inquisitor saw and lifted a hand to his, pushing what was left of her own power into him. “Fire. We need a fire,” she said. “Water. Herb pouch. And the scouts. Legs aren’t working. Can’t ride. Need help.”  
“I’ll go,” said Sera. “Don’t— don’t die before I get back.”  
The Inquisitor smiled. “No, that’d ruin dinner.”  
“Serious,” she snapped.  
The Inquisitor’s smile dropped. “It will be okay, Sera, really. Had worse.”  
“Doubt it,” sniffed Sera but she moved away to find her horse.  
Blackwall had already gone to find fuel for a fire.

The Inquisitor’s hand fell away from him, she was drained. “I’m sorry. It is all gone.”  
“And your breath?” he asked.  
“Better. Painful, but better. Like Haven.” Sweat rolled down her forehead.  
“Can you feel your legs?”  
“Yes.” Her teeth ground together.  
“I must move you—”  
“Leave it,” she hissed, “there is nothing left.”  
“We have lyrium potions, we are well stocked. And we aren’t going anywhere for a while.”  
She offered no resistance to that.

He began to shift her leggings. She grasped his shoulder. “Wait,” she pleaded. He stopped. “Where is Blackwall?”  
Solas looked around. “He’s picking up firewood as fast as he can,” he said, thinking she wanted the fire.  
“How far?”  
“A hundred meters perhaps.”  
“I cannot— if you move me, I will not be able to stay silent.”  
He leaned over her, pulling the sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. “He is a soldier. He has heard it before.”  
“And you?”  
“I was a soldier once, too. And I have seen my share since the Breach as well.” The lotus caught his eye, still sharp and white and warm in the cool dark. He gently unwound it from her hair. “Apologies, my love, but this will work to ease the pain. I will plant you oceans of them to amend the loss of this one.”  
She could see the waver in his hand and closed it in her own until he met her eyes. “All will be well,” she said.  
He wasn’t certain if it were a declaration or a question, so he simply nodded, trying to swallow the jagged stone in his throat. “All will be well,” he said.

He rolled the petals between his fingers, mixing them in with the dried herbs in his pouch and one of the healing potions. The air smelled sweet and heavy from the lotus and he tried to dismiss the memories of watching his grandparents enter uthenara as he worked. The fire was bright and hot nearby when he helped her drink the potion. He tried to wait for it to take effect but he could see one of her pant legs darkening with blood.  
“I _must_ move you now.”  
She nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.” Her mouth clenched close, lips thinning and blanching into a set line.  
He knew it had to be quick. There was no gentleness to it. He slid off her leggings in one swift, severe yank. She did cry out, but it was soft, contained and her skin was drenched with sweat but she shook as if she were cold.

He uncorked a lyrium potion and sucked it down, barely letting it hit him before his hands began moving over the crushed flesh of her legs. Sera and the scouts arrived with a wagon before he had finished. The camp surgeon pushed him gently aside.  
“Let him stay,” rumbled Blackwall.  
The surgeon looked up. “What magic could do has been done. He’s not needed.”  
“He’s _needed_ ,” insisted Blackwall. “Let him stay with her. Sera and I will go away, but let him be.”  
Solas hovered over her, the only sign of pain was in the pulsing tension in her jaw. She was pale and haggard, but she kept her gaze on his face. She did not speak, too focused on keeping silent. He wished she would not struggle as she did, but he understood why she did. The potion was working, making it easier, but they could all see that she was not comfortable.  
“Can’t you— I dunno, magic her to sleep or something?” fumed Sera.  
“I could,” said Solas, “but every jolt of pain would wake her.”

At last, the surgeon agreed to move her to the camp, where he would work late into the night repairing the damage. The wagon was shaky. She broke after the first few bumps, crying out at last, but the sound of the horses and the creak of the wagon covered it, so only he could hear.  
“Talk to me,” she gasped, “Tell me something to take my mind away. Tell me a story. Tell me about Falon’din.”  
“Not that one, Vhenan—”  
“Yes,” she pleaded, “that one.”  
And his breath burned with cold terror inside his chest.


	35. The Lamplighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cd2jXsmSaKc&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=19

She shivered beside him, but Solas knew it was from pain instead of cold. He had forgotten the lyrium potions next to the fire and he would be drained for hours, but he placed a palm on her chest, letting a slow healing spell drip constantly out of him in a constant thin trickle.

“Do you know what veilfire is?” he asked.  
Her glazed stare faded a little as she tried to concentrate. “Cole said it’s the memory of fire.”  
“It is memory, that is true, but not only of flame. Veilfire is the essence of _all_ memory. In the Fallow Mire, we used it to mark the way, not only to the fortress, but the memory in it helped the spirits of those trapped there find the way— home. It is often used as guideposts for that very reason.” He pulled a spark of it from the Fade. It wavered and swirled at the tip of his finger and he watched her eyes fill with the soft light. “It was also used in written language. You have seen it in the ancient glyphs we have found. Those pass on the memory of technique, the sum of learning of the writer. But it could also be used to share any memory—” He traced the word “lath” into the skin of her arm with the spark. It glowed and sank into her. She sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes filled with sudden tears. She brought her fingers to her lips, the sensation of the kiss still tingling there, pushing the agony of her wounds aside.  
“That was— beautiful, Solas. What _was_ it?”  
“My memory of the first time you kissed me, Vhenan.”  
“Thank you,” was all she could think to say.

  
He promised himself that he would do it again, another time, when she wasn’t in such pain. To write his joy, his love across her skin. To show her what she truly meant. Another shudder passed through her and he snapped his attention back to the story, back to drawing her away from the anguish of her body.

“It came from the Fade, first. It was used there to mark the paths, for that realm is vast, many times the area of this world. As far as I know, none have discovered its edge. It is easy to become lost, to wander for centuries, if one does not know the way. So veilfire was used along the Elvhen ways to transfer the knowledge of the path. One had only to touch it to gain a memory of that area. Before Falon’din, there was a lamplighter—”  
“ _Before_ Falon’din?” she asked.  
“Yes, emma lath, before even him, there was a guide through the Fade. It was her task to keep the veilfires lit. She wandered the Fade as no one else had, for millennia, perhaps since the very beginning. I know not. She knew the Fade as no one else did. But she tired of the task, never having time to rest, seeing the wonders of the Fade but never having the opportunity to stop and understand them.

“Falon’din was beautiful. But he was arrogant and cruel as well. His vanity was without limit. He craved worship as he craved breath. And once he had the adulation of millions of willing elves, he did not stop. He made war on Elgar’nan first, taking thousands of elves as his own. Elgar’nan longed to strike him down, but Mythal stopped them, for the sake of the People. They each picked a champion to determine who would be the victor and end the bloodshed. Falon’din lost. But it did not slake his thirst for power over others. Sylaise’s people were next. But Sylaise was subtle and patient. She went to Dirthamen and asked him to intercede with Falon’din. For Dirthamen and Falon’din had ever been friends.”  
“Why?” asked the Inquisitor.

Solas smiled. She always seemed to ask the unexpected, even now. “Their bond formed in childhood, when neither were powerful or sought more than the next hour’s play. They grew up together, until Dirthamen’s father was banished for overreaching. Dirthamen, too, was ordered into exile by Elgar’nan, destined to become a Forgotten One, but Falon’din pleaded for his friend. He and Mythal persuaded Elgar’nan to relent.” He slid his hand softly over her temple and cheek, as she had done to him. “And Dirthamen remained, became Falon’din’s brother. I think that is why Dirthamen stayed faithful to Falon’din for so long, despite everything. He went to Falon’din, after Sylaise convinced him that Falon’din had gone too far. He reasoned with his friend, flattered him, tried to appease his vanity. But Falon’din would not yield, not even for his friend. Dirthamen realized that Falon’din would not stop until all of Elvhenan worshipped him above all. He betrayed Falon’din, for the good of the People. He went to Mythal, told her how Falon’din had set his eyes on Sylaise’s temple, that he was unswayable. Mythal was often reluctant to move against her own, but even she could not deny that Falon’din’s aggression could not continue unchecked. She called a council and led the armies against Falon’din. There was a mighty battle in the heart of Arlathan. It took over a century and thousands of the People were slaughtered. For a people that were not familiar with death, war was a terrible thing.” He paused, a deep shadow of sorrow passing over him.

  
“It is a terrible thing, even now,” said the Inquisitor, pulling him back to the present.  
“Yes,” he agreed. “At last they cornered Falon’din in his own temple. And Dirthamen came face to face with his friend for the first time in decades. ‘Yield,’ he said, ‘I warned you how this would finish, my friend. You are defeated. Yield and be reconciled.’ But Falon’din sneered. ‘Traitor, coward. We are friends no longer. There is no reconciliation for us. Let me loose and I will hunt you to the edge of the world. I should have let the others banish you with your worthless father. This is how you repay my loyalty?’  
Dirthamen was wounded and his grief distracted him. Falon’din rushed at him and Dirthamen raised an arm to defend himself, but his spell surged wildly. His rage and sorrow and shame prevented him from controlling it. And Falon’din was taken by surprise and slain by the spell on the steps of his own temple.”

The wagon halted and she sobbed into his shoulder at the rough lurch. “There will be sleeping draughts here, and medicine to ease the pain,” he whispered.  
“Don’t go,” she begged.  
“No, Vhenan, I am here. We have a story to finish, do we not?”  
Two soldiers jumped into the wagon, and she clamped her lips down on another cry as the wagon shifted.  
“Gently,” he snarled at them.  
“I’m sorry,” said one, “we just wanted to aid the Herald as quickly as possible.”  
Solas nodded and rose to move out of their way. He hurried to find the apothecary as they carried her to a large tent.

“How bad?” Sera jabbed his shoulder with a bony finger. “She isn’t— she’s not going to snuff it, is she?”  
He pushed aside empty decanters and uncorked dark bottles, sniffing and rejecting them. “She is in pain, but I think we reacted in time. The journey to the Western Approach will likely take far longer though.”  
Sera blew out her cheeks. “Good. Would’ve been a stupid way to die, smashed to bits.” She snorted and elbowed him, relief returning her humor. “Reckon that’s why she picked you over Iron Bull, then. He’d have squished her. No danger of that with you, all scraggle and bone.”  
He fought a laugh and lost. “Look who’s speaking.”  
“Yeah, but it cheered you up. You want to eat? Blackwall would like to hear how she is.”  
“When she is comfortable, Sera. I will join you after she sleeps.”  
“Right.”

He handed her a bottle. “Hold this.” He ground a thin paste in the mortar.  
“That flower you gave her— it’s gone. Did she lose it? I could— I could go back and look. In the morning.”  
He looked up, startled. Sera’s face was a deep red and she was playing the bottle’s stopper. “That is kind, Sera, but I’m afraid I had to use it to ease the pain. I will find her another, in time. I thought you weren’t listening to all that ‘elfy shite’ anyway,” he teased.  
She shrugged. “Yeah well, I wasn’t. Just thought it looked pretty in her hair is all. Stupid to waste it on uth-y- utha— stupid to waste it on snoring elves.”  
“Hmm, but you _weren’t_ listening.” He took the bottle back and splashed a foul smelling liquid into a bowl on top of the paste. “It would help her immensely to drink this,” he said, holding it out. She hesitated. “Sera, it’s not magic, just herbs. I need to make a sleeping draught for her because this camp’s apothecary is abysmal. Or lazy. I would not have her in pain any longer than necessary.”  
Sera nodded and grabbed the bowl. The Inquisitor’s sharp cry rang across the camp and his heart began to race again. He tried to hurry.

Sera was still lingering in the entrance of the tent when he returned. He glanced sharply at the bowl, ready to scold her for waiting, but the bowl was drained. He put a hand on Sera’s shoulder. “Go find Blackwall. Rest. She will be sleeping soon and I will meet you.” Sera nodded and backed out of the tent.

The surgeon looked over his shoulder. “Is that a sleeping draught? Good, she cannot keep still and I cannot work.”  
“Fool! Why did you not wait?”  
The man stood up, ready to shout, but Solas cut him off without waiting for a response. “Leave.”  
“But—”  
“ _Leave_. You may be skilled, but you will not touch her again until she cannot feel how rough you are with her. I will call you when she is sleeping, you may do your work then.”  
He knelt beside her as the surgeon stalked off.

“Thank you,” she sighed. The medication had begun to work, her shivering had stilled and her skin was dry and warm.  
“This will help you sleep through the worst of it.” He lifted her slowly and helped her drink. “It will take some time to begin working.”  
“How bad is it? Will we be able to travel this week?”  
“My heart, put aside the Inquisition for tonight. Let the others worry about the Western Approach.”  
“But the Wardens—”  
“Void take the Wardens! They deserve their fate—” he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I am not myself.”  
She pressed a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down to her. “It will be all right,” she said and kissed him.  
“Forget the Wardens, just for tonight.”  
“Then finish your story, _make_ me forget them. What happened when Dirthamen killed Falon’din? Did the other gods turn on him?”

He winced internally when she called them gods, but did not contradict her. “No, Vhenan. They were satisfied. Mythal grieved her son, but she believed he had gone too far. Only Dirthamen doubted his actions. His grief overwhelmed him. He had Falon’din’s body placed on a shining white bed on the altar of Dirthamen’s own temple and preserved it with intricate spells, so that the sight of it greeted him every time he entered or exited his own home. He took no interest in his normal studies and all life began to lose its brilliance. But he had no friend now to pull him from his sorrow or ease his guilt. He began speaking to Falon’din’s body, and sought obscure knowledge about reaching the dead. His servants would find him sleeping near the corpse on occasion and grew worried. But who could question the mighty Dirthamen? So it continued for many months.”  
Her eyes were drooping, her breathing levelled out. He thought to stop there, but she squeezed his hand to show him she still listened.

“There came a day when Dirthamen did not wake up, sleeping deeply beside his friend despite the best efforts of his servants to rouse him. He lay as if dead, but was not. He had found his way, at last, to the far paths of the Fade. He followed the veilfire, day upon day, unresting, until at last he met the lamplighter as she walked her route. ‘Hahren,’called Dirthamen, ‘you have wandered this place for eternity. Certainly you must know where the dead go.’ The lamplighter squinted at him, her eyes foggy and burned from the centuries of veilfire.  
‘Da’len,’ she said, ‘leave the dead to themselves, they have no desire to take you among them. Return to the surface of the Fade.’ But Dirthamen refused.  
‘I cannot return without my brother. I must find Falon’din, you must help me.’  
The lamplighter shook her head and waved him off. ‘Your brother has forgotten you. He has moved on from the cares and loves of the living world. And you will fade as well, if you do not return to your body.’  
Dirthamen was struck with doubt, but he was brave. ‘Falon’din would never forget me, hahren. I will not return without him. You must help me find him.’  
The lamplighter thought for a while. ‘It is a mighty secret, the way to the center of the Fade. I cannot give it to you for nothing.’  
‘What would you have of me?’ he asked, ‘All that I am, all that I have, I would give to see my brother again.’  
‘I wish my road to be shorter. I wish to have time to see what I have discovered for others. I will give you the secret of the veilfire so that you may find your way to Falon’din, but in return, you must give it to others. When you return to the living, you must mark the way back, so that I will have only half as much work. You must keep them lit, teach others how to follow the fires, so that when they reach these lands, they will not be lost.’  
‘It is an easy price,’ he said, ‘I will happily do this to find my brother.’  
So the lamplighter showed him how to pull memory from the Fade, how to wrap it in pure energy and etch it into existence. And she led him to the heart of the Fade where Falon’din wandered, uncertain of what he sought. He saw Dirthamen and ran to embrace him.

‘I am sorry, brother,’ he cried, ‘Death has brought me to myself again. I have been foolish, blind. It was not you who betrayed me, but I who betrayed you. Please, forgive my madness.’  
And Dirthamen was filled with gladness that Falon’din had relented. ‘Come back with me. Come back and be welcomed among us again. Your mother grieves, your father is quick to anger, but it has cooled and he regrets your death. Return and be loved as you once were.’  
But the lamplighter shook her head. ‘This is not allowed. He cannot return. His body is broken and the world has moved beyond him.’  
‘There must be a way,’ said Dirthamen. ‘You, above all, would know. Tell me, and I will give you anything, any price.’  
‘You have already promised your price. It is for your brother to ransom himself. I know the secret, yes, but it is not to be shared. Not like the veilfire.’  
‘What would you have, then, mamaela?’ asked Falon’din. ‘My temple is broken, my people scattered. What have I to offer in return for this secret?’  
‘Your service, Falon’din,’ replied the lamplighter. ‘Your arrogance brought you to this place. Humility may lead you out again. You will serve the dead. They will come to you for guidance, seeking the wisdom of this place. You will keep the veilfires lit and record their memories for all the travelers that follow behind. You may return to the living, but it will be brief and seldom, for there is much work to be done here. That is the price.’  
And Falon’din agreed. The lamplighter told him the secret to immortality and he and Dirthamen returned to Arlathan, Falon’din in a new form. He was no longer beautiful, and the others took many years to accept that he was the same. His temple was poor, his followers few. And Falon’din could never linger for long in his home, called to serve every few years as an elder chose uthenara or a life was cut short by violence. But Dirthamen cleaved to him, travelled with him each time. And they were happy, for a time. He and Dirthamen led others safely through the Fade for millennia.”

“For a time?” She cut off a yawn and he pulled her robe a little tighter over the curve of her shoulder.  
“They were persuaded to do something foolish, to make an enemy of a friend. But it was many years later, and you are exhausted.”  
“Did he ever tell?” slurred the Inquisitor. “The secret, did Falon’din ever tell?”  
Solas frowned. The thought had never occurred to him before. He had thought it a children’s tale, closer to the truth, but still awash in myth. He had meant it as comfort. “I believe he told Mythal,” he said at last, thinking of her dragon form. “Though, perhaps too late.”  
“Too late?”  
“A tale for another night. Sleep now.”  
“But it is dark. All the veilfires sputter out…”

Solas felt as if he were speaking to Cole instead of her. Her thoughts much sharper and more truthful as she hovered at the edge of the Fade. “No, emma lath,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. “The lamplighter walks still. She was there before anything, and she will be there after all is lost. May she always light you back to me. For that, I would pay an eternity of service.”  
The Inquisitor slept. He rose to find the surgeon.


	36. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGl3l4pOzYU&index=15&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“So…if someone were to, say, guzzle some lyrium potions— it’d turn out right, yeah?”  
Solas looked up from the message he was writing to Skyhold with a half smile. “Were you looking for the mead stock in the dark again? Lucky it wasn’t the armor oil.”  
Sera rolled her eyes. “That only happened _once_.”  
He smirked and looked back down at his letter. “You’ll be fine, Sera. Maybe a bit jittery, but one lyrium potion won’t kill you.”  
“Right. Thanks.”

  
He thought she’d walked away, but after a moment she said, “Just how many would it take? You know, to snuff it?”  
He leaned on the rickety camp table. “You had more than one?”  
“Noooo. Maybe. How many?”  
“You aren’t a mage, so you haven’t built up any kind of lyrium resistance. I would expect three or four in a short space of time could certainly be enough to cause some lyrium poisoning. Is that how many you had?”  
Sera frowned, twisting a loose, fraying leather cord on the hilt of her dagger. “Pretend I’m a mage. How many then?”  
“Pretend you’re a— Sera, what is going on?”  
She crossed her arms and scowled as if he’d already lost his temper. “Blackwall said I should let you sleep, even though she woke up. And you don’t bloody well say ‘no’ to the Inquisitor, do you?” Sera paused for a second, considering. “Not because she’s the Inquisitor or all that title crap. Because she’s _herself_. And she’s a mule when she wants, isn’t she?”  
He stood up abruptly. “The Inquisitor?”  
“Well, I didn’t know she’d swallow ‘em all, did I?” she said in a rush.

He strode toward the large tent and she ran to keep up. “How many did you give her?” he barked.  
“All of them,” said Sera, her face scarlet and miserable.  
“All _twelve_?”  
“She said it would help her get better faster.”  
He scraped a hand down his face.  
“I’m _sorry_ , okay?” she yelled.  
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Sera, nobody is angry with you. It will be alright. She was wrong to ask this of you.”  
“You’re mad at her and not me?”  
“I’m not angry with anyone, but she _is_ being reckless and I want to know why.” He turned away and entered the tent.

The air was thick and charged and the Inquisitor leaned against the tall weapon crate that served as a table beside her cot. Her eyes were closed in concentration, scattered glass bottles lying empty around her. To his relief, a cluster of full potions still lined the crate. She had only made it through little more than half, then.

“We have done all that we can. You must be patient. It’s only been three days. All that will heal you now is time. Did you think I would hold any spell back if I thought it could ease your discomfort?”  
Her eyes snapped open to look at him. “In truth, I do not know,” she said, “you have held so many other things back from me.”  
A prickling dread slithered over him. He tried to tell himself it was the pain that spoke and not her, but he knew it was not undeserved. She took another gulp from the flask in her hand, wincing at the bitter tang of the lyrium and returned to concentrating on her legs.

“Don’t,” he said, reaching for the bottle. She held it away from him. “You will make yourself sick,” he warned, “undo all the work that has been done for you.”  
She laughed. “And yet, if I do not reach the Western Approach in time, it will all be undone anyway. The Wardens will fall. The Blight—” she laughed again, and the sharp edge of it was brittle and thin. He shuddered. “The Blight that _we_ made will overtake us all with Corypheus at its head.”  
“We did not make it. _You_ have no responsibility for this.”  
“And yet I am the one who must prevent it. Why didn’t you _tell_ me? Why have you kept this hidden? How long have you known?”  
“I did not hide it— the Blight was simply not important to the task at hand. Until now. Why would I add more to your burdens?”  
She shook her head and he felt another charged burst of magic from her as she tried to cast again. “And even now, you haven’t told me everything,” she muttered, tilting the potion to her lips.

His heart stuttered to a standstill. “What is it that you think I haven’t told you?”  
She tried to stand and found her legs still too weak, leaning again onto the crate. He wanted to help her, but kept his hands still. “You show me a hole in the ground, one you say that Mythal sealed— Mythal! And then claim that Andruil was the one who brought it back. You use my belief against me, like a— a _weapon_. Is it because you think I’m a fool? Or just fragile?”  
The fear was slowly replaced with a deep confusion. This was not the turn he had expected. “I don’t think you are either of those things, you _know_ that. I did not lie about Mythal, and it _was_ Andruil who brought the Blight into Elvhenan—”  
“Stop, Solas. If you cannot bring yourself to speak the truth, then leave. I have no time for fairy stories.” The chill in her voice was more effective than her words. He felt a sizzle of true anger, his response a flame to her ice.  
“Fairy stories? I thought you believed in the pantheon.” He paced the large tent, his voice rising to match hers.  
“But _you_ don’t. So this is what? An attempt to show me something so awful that I cannot help but concede that you are right, that there are no— that there is not— that I am _alone_?” She was shouting now, trying to straighten, heedless of the pain. “Unlucky and pointless? Or is it, instead, that you believe I could not face the truth? That you must foist the responsibility for the Blight onto a distant, untouchable god? Am I so weak or is the real story so horrible that you are afraid to tell me? It must be the former, because I can think of nothing worse than what I saw—”  
“Be rational, Inquisitor. I had no reason to fabricate such a tale— what possible good could come from convincing you that we were answerable for the Blight if it were false? Why would I do that?” He slid a hand over his scalp in frustration and turned to face her again. “Do you truly believe I am so cruel?”

For a few, rapid, heartbreaking breaths, he was uncertain how she’d answer. And then her vallaslin crumpled and she gave up trying to hold herself straight, sinking beside the cot. “No,” she sobbed. The potion in her hand tumbled and rolled across the dirt, spilling a trail of vibrant blue behind it that slowly sank into the ground. She buried her face in her hands and he stared at her for a moment, paralyzed by the shock of seeing her so broken. He could remember a similar argument, one where he had known what she now felt. He tried to remember what Wisdom had told him in the days after learning the Evanuris were not as they seemed.  
He crouched beside her, wishing he could do as she had done for him on that stormy afternoon above Skyhold. That he could hold her until she calmed. He feared she might push him away. His anger was gone, shriveled at the root, but hers— he could not tell. “Why do you weep, my heart?” he asked.

Her voice was ragged as it leaked through her fingers. “Because it leaves only one possibility. That you are telling the truth about what we saw. And if that is true—” She took a slow breath and looked up, her face still shattered with sorrow. “If that is true, then I must also believe so many other terrible things. That you were also telling the truth about the gods. About the mark. About the Dalish. Because I must believe you have _seen_ these things.”

Her assumptions cut him. If ever there were a time to come clean, to tell her that all was not as it seemed, that one truth did not preclude another lie— it was then. But she was adrift, and to reveal it all was to push her farther and farther away. He could not, though self-loathing seared his gut. He slid down to sit, leaning the back of his head against the rough fabric of the cot. “I have— I have been mistaken about many things. You have shown me so much— so many qualities that I thought had disappeared from the world. Kindness. Faith without hatred or ignorance. Love. If I was wrong about such vital things, perhaps I am wrong about others as well.”  
She shook her head. He found her hand with his. “I believed in them once, too,” he whispered. “Even— even when I was shown otherwise, I did not want to accept that they were not divine. It was many, many years before I saw them as they truly were. But they _did_ exist. Just— not as you have been taught.”

She stared at his hand around hers, as if she’d forgotten how they got there. “I don’t know if that is a comfort or not. Everywhere I set my feet, every time I believe something is certain, it shifts away. I thought— I thought we were _good_ people. I thought if we could just get the humans to _see_ us…”  
He sat up and turned her chin toward him. “You said once that no one is only one way. But I think I can safely say that you are _good_. And you have been good as long as I’ve known you. And you will go on being good, or at least, being you, which is close enough. You did not need Mythal or Elgar’nan or Falon’din to make you that way. They did not make your choices, you did. And you will survive without them.”  
“To what end?” she choked.  
“Why did you agree to do this, Vhenan? All of this: to close the breach, to save Haven, lead the Inquisition, chase the Wardens— you could have left at any point. No one would have been able to force you. Why have you stayed?”  
“Because I was needed.”  
“It was not the gods who needed you.”  
“No.”  
“And the only thing that has changed is what you know. You are still needed. You are still perilously strong and unyielding in your compassion. You still have purpose. Let that be your solid space to stand.” It was a struggle to end there, to resist adding promise after promise of his own. He could not— not until he was certain he would be there to fulfill them. It was a thrumming ache between them, that hesitation, that silence. He knew she could feel it, because she twisted her face away after a moment.

“But knowing alters everything, Solas,” she said softly. “When you told me that the orb was ours— that it was _our_ people who gave Corypheus the power to shatter the sky— I thought it was hopeless. I _still_ have my doubts. And now— I cannot fight the Blight. Hundreds of better people than I have tried. How am I to undo this?”  
There were so many easy responses he could have given her. So many ways to soothe her. Varric would have told her it was all pure bullshit. That no one expected her to fix something she had no hand in creating. Cassandra’s tactic would be to lay out simple, logical steps into the future, even if they did not lead to the desired conclusion. Even Cole would comfort her by pointing out the good she had done, the deeds that weighed in balance. But each rang false because he’d rejected them himself, pushing them away as trivial or irrelevant when Wisdom had offered them to him one after another. And she was not a child. And she was not weak. He gave her the answer he’d never been able to accept himself. “Oh, my love, you _can’t_. It cannot be undone. Not by the anchor, nor the orb, nor all the dead and distant gods themselves.”  
He expected her to protest, to argue. To hope. Instead she turned her face toward him again, leaning her cheek against the side of the cot as if she were exhausted. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Solas. I don’t want to _be_ this anymore,” she said.  
“I know,” he answered. The break in his voice was a jagged abyss. She curled her battered body against him and he melted around her. “I’m so _sorry_ ,” he breathed into her ear.

But regret did not reign alone. Somewhere deep in his secret heart, somewhere he’d never acknowledge even to himself, Solas felt a selfish relief as well. For the first time in his long, long life, someone deeply understood what he had endured.


	37. Left Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3SjCzA71eM

It was almost nightfall when he finally crept away, taking the lyrium with him. She had spent her grief for now, but he didn’t trust her not to risk another attempt. He had been hovering on the edge of a decision for hours and the quick, anxious looks the others gave him as he emerged forced him into action.

  
“She’s alright, Sera,” he said, with a kind smile. He piled the potions on the edge of the camp table and sat beside her as she peeled a potato.  
“Are you certain?” asked Blackwall. “That didn’t sound as if she were well. Didn’t sound like the Inquisitor I know at all.”  
His temper had got the better of him and the shouting could not have been missed. He wondered how much they had heard. It was not the time to ask, nor would it be terribly important in the long run. Even Sera knew when to keep silent where it would harm the Inquisition.

“She is distressed about meeting the Wardens. That is why she requested the lyrium. It will not help her recover in time to keep the appointment with Hawke and Stroud. Do not give her more, Sera, no matter what she says.”  
Sera flipped the potato into the pot and frowned. “How should I know about that magic stuff?”  
“I don’t expect you to,” Solas said, holding out a hand for the knife and a new potato. “And I don’t think she will ask again— but it would do her harm if she got her hands on more just now.”  
“What are we to do, then?” asked Blackwall. “Should we return to Skyhold?”  
Solas shook his head without looking up. “No, the appointment must be kept. We must know what has happened to the Wardens. You and I will depart in the morning.”  
“What? You can’t be serious,” Blackwall protested.  
Sera just stared at him, letting her hand sag.

“The Inquisitor is not needed in this. We can go in her place, and she badly needs the rest. The rifts are stable and easily avoided until she has an opportunity to close them. We are her allies. And you know the Wardens better than she does. It will be no hardship for us to continue on with our task in her stead. The Inquisitor and Sera can meet us when she is recovered.”  
He caught an exchanged look between Blackwall and Sera before she dropped a half peeled carrot onto his lap in disgust and stood up. “Why you, then? Why not me and Blackwall?”  
Solas was surprised. “I thought you enjoyed the Inquisitor’s company. I thought you would want to—”  
“Yeah, I _like_ her. She’s my friend. Besides, she’s a good sort.” Sera leaned down to jab him in the chest with her finger. “And I’m not happy when people take advantage of her, then leave her in the lurch.”  
“I’m not—”  
“Shut it,” Sera snapped. “Not done. Is it that you think you’re smarter than me? That I won’t do right by the Inquisitor when it comes to it? ‘Cause Blackwall and me, we _know_ the rules.”  
Solas put the knife down in his lap and folded his arms, waiting.

“First,” continued Sera, shoving at his shoulder. “Don’t be shitty. Second, don’t treat the little people like they’re less than anyone else. Third, if it bites or burns, stab it.” She paused. “Okay, that last one I think is mine. But it’s pretty simple, yeah? I can handle it. _You_ stay.”  
“Sera, I was not saying—”  
“Careful, Solas,” rumbled Blackwall. “Because if your motive wasn’t to be certain I said or did the right thing, then it was because you’re running away from the Inquisitor.”  
“Yeah,” shouted Sera, pacing, “Pretty easy to stick around when it’s all tits and bits, isn’t it? But she gets hurt and you try to clear out right quick.”  
His arms dropped and he bristled. “That’s not—”  
“She’s done everything you lot have asked and the second she gets a little rattled you drop her like week old mabari crap in August.”  
“The Inquisitor’s been low, Solas. Very low. Ever since we left Skyhold, and it’s only got worse. She feels the battles wearing on. It’s like she hears the Calling—”  
“Don’t say that!” he snapped.  
“She doesn’t need Sera,” said Blackwall, ignoring the interruption. “She needs _you_.”  
Sera nodded emphatically. “I don’t know the first thing about all that elf-fade-spirit crap, and I don’t care. But she does. And if it makes the Inquisitor feel better, then you’re staying.”  
“I think that would be unwise. She needs space and peace to think and to rest—”  
“You mean _you_ need it. Coward,” spat Sera.

Solas stood up, his temper boiling over. “I am _not_ running from the Inquisitor, nor my responsibility to her,” he shouted. “This was not my first choice, nor an easy one—”  
“It’s a _shitty_ one,” said Sera.  
“—I thought it best that both groups have access to both magic and defense—”  
Sera rolled her eyes, but it was Blackwall that cut in. “Sera and I both managed for many years on our own despite our obvious _limitations_. We will be fine.”  
Sera snickered.  
“That is— if you think you are competent enough to protect the Inquisitor yourself, Solas,” he added with a sly shrug. “If you think it is too much—”

“Enough! I am only trying to do what is best for the Inquisition. And to ease the Inquisitor’s troubles. She will not rest if she believes we are going to miss the meeting of the Gray Wardens. I will not allow petty bickering derail a perfectly good plan.” His hands had curled into fists. His magic sparked and fizzed just below the surface, itching to lash out, but at what, he did not know.  
“It’s a bad plan. So here’s the _new_ plan. Blackwall and I go meet Hawke. We take a couple ravens in case things go skeevy. We stab some demons and save the day. _You_ stay here. You make _her_ happy. Whatever it takes. If it means stupid magic elf stories, then you tell her some stupid magic elf stories. And when you run out, you make up more. If it means finding her those little white snoring flowers, you go out and get some. If it means dropping your breeches and—”  
“Sera!” shouted Blackwall.  
“—whatever it takes. And if you don’t like it— well hike up your knickers and be a fucking woman about it instead of a whiny little—”

Solas grabbed her hand to stop her from stabbing her finger back into the bruise she’d already made on her chest. Her eyes narrowed. “Serious, Solas. If you so much as _think_ about abandoning her before she’s better, I’ll slice you into ribbons so thin even the creepy demon kid won’t be able to find you. You follow?”  
“I am not going to—”  
“Sera? Is everything alright?” The Inquisitor’s voice was hoarse and slow. He spun around to see her clutching the tent canvas, trying to hold herself upright.

He released Sera’s hand and hurried to help the Inquisitor before she could collapse.  
“Sure, Buckles. Solas and I were just having a laugh. We should turn in though, Blackwall and me. Got to head out in the morning.”  
“Head out?” The Inquisitor looked up at him as she leaned on his arm.  
“Yes, my lady. We thought it best you stay and rest. The ball was rough and—” Blackwall was nervous, stumbling over his words and Solas winced internally. This was a bad idea. “And seeing as I’m a Warden, we figured it’d be easy for Sera and I to pop over and see what the fuss is. Should have thought of it before, really. No need for you to get all bogged down in it. More important things to see to and all.”  
“But—”  
“No, now, Solas agreed with us, didn’t he? Three against one, you see?” said Sera.  
“We shouldn’t split up— what would I do if you were hurt?”  
“We’re careful. Sneaky-like. The scouts say the road is all clear, and we’re just meeting with Hawke. She’s a right tough one, she’ll do if there’s a fight.”  
The Inquisitor didn’t look comforted. Sera forced a grin. “I promise to watch out for clumsy livestock, right?”  
“You at least seem to be more skilled at that than I.” She returned the smile, but it was troubled. “I will be ready by the morning—”  
“No, my lady. Trust us to do this for you. Be well. There are so many that need us. You will do them no good if you are injured further. What happens if Corypheus chooses to strike soon? You cannot be weakened by unnecessary trips.”  
She sighed. “Very well, Blackwall. Of course I trust you. And— thank you.” She turned her face up towards Solas. “And you, emma lath? They will need your aid.”

Sera jumped in before he could respond. “Nah. Solas put out his knee. He’s just going to slow us down. All that stuffed-shirt dancing. He needs a rest in his old age.”  
“Mmm. Downright decrepit, my lady. I hear the warm weather in these parts is good for rheumatism. Perhaps it will help him recover while we’re gone.” Blackwall was smirking and Solas had to fight an exasperated sigh from slipping out.

  
“Come, Vhenan, I will help you back to your bed. It is time to check the bandages,” he said instead, shooting a glare back at the others. Sera smiled sweetly back.  
“Was this your idea, Solas?” she asked, grimacing as he helped her lie on her back.  
“I cannot take all the credit,” he admitted. “But you would fight me more strenuously as the time for meeting Hawke drew nearer. It would delay your healing, and, my love, let us be honest, you would be a liability in battle even if you were able to ride to it.” He rolled his sleeves to the elbow and began unwrapping the bulky cloth strips around her chest.  
“Will they truly be safe without you?”  
He frowned as the dried poultice flaked away with the bandages as he lifted them. “They are clever and strong. Both survived many battles before either you or I met them. And Sera was right, both Hawke and Stroud are formidable. They will be safe. And I— would rather stay. I don’t like the thought of leaving you to the mercy of the surgeon, though, in truth, I can be of little more assistance to you.” He lightly brushed debris from the herbs from the dark bruising on her stomach.  
“That is not true,” she said, catching his fingers. “You are of great assistance. But I shouldn’t be selfish. There are people here who can help—”  
“Then let _me_ be selfish. Indulge me this once, _please_. It was not my intent to leave you alone. I confess, I anticipated dealing with the Wardens myself and leaving Sera with you. I thought she might cheer you— but I much prefer this arrangement. Parting with you still in such pain would have been— I am relieved to be remaining.” He hovered over her, brushing her forehead with a cool hand. “Let me stay?”

“It will be boring.”  
He smiled at her weak objection. “An active mind will always find something to engage it. And _you_ are endlessly fascinating.”  
“I can be cross when I’m in pain— and unattractive.”  
“Is that a threat, Vhenan? I would be frightened if it weren’t so obviously false.”  
Her mirth faded. “I— I don’t expect that what happened this morning— I think it will not be the last time. I can’t— I can’t be the warrior saint for you. Not now.”  
“I don’t want a warrior saint. I don’t want a sculpture or a symbol or a Herald or a myth. I wish to see the woman who falls asleep on horseback rather than refuse a friend in need. I want to speak with the person who kisses too soon and makes terrible bets and can’t sew a simple patch of cloth into her armor if her life depended upon it. I would have the real you, doubt and fear and passion and all.” He bent and kissed her. “Have all your objections been countered? Or are there others?”  
She laughed, and it was sane and bright, unlike the terrible dead laugh she had uttered before. “I am soundly defeated. I yield.”  
“That is wise. My terms of surrender will be easy, I promise. But now, you must eat and have your wounds tended. And I must send a message to Leliana. I will not be long.”


	38. Veilfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRR73dSKr7c&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=5

It ought to have held his interest, but the day was very fine and he had given up reading the notes on Alexius’s amulet ages ago. A pity, it had taken a good deal of negotiation to persuade Dorian to lend it to him, even for a short time. But the sun slanted through the long grasses and painted the Inquisitor in gold and shade as she sat beside him. He pretended to continue reading, watching from the corner of her eye as she concentrated on her reports. Every so often, he noticed, she’d glance over at a pile of drawings they’d made. Copies of ancient runes that had glowed and called in the light of veilfire. Little lost things, remnants of great power. She ran an idle finger over one, as if she could feel an impression.

“Solas?”  
“Yes?” he asked without looking up from the same page he’d been idling over for an hour.  
“Would it be wrong to beg a gift from you?”  
“If you mean to ask me to take you to the Western Approach early, the answer is still ‘no,’ Vhenan. You will need a few more days yet.”  
“It is not.”

He closed the book. “We have discussed my lack of wealth before, but all that I have is yours.”  
“I am not asking for an object. I wish for something far more precious.”  
Part of him drew back, afraid of what she meant to ask for. Afraid he would not be able to refuse her, even if it were better if he did. She reached up, stroking the fragile skin of his temple. “It’s in there, I have seen it,” she smiled, “and it is your own fault. It was you that started it.”  
“Me?” he slid down onto one arm beside her. “Have I forgotten a debt?”  
She laughed. “I would not have to beg if it were owed me. And you have not answered my question. Is it wrong of me to ask?”  
He shifted the reports and the book to keep them from being crushed. “If you were anyone else, I might tell you that it depended on the gift. But there is little I would refuse to share with you, in my head or out. What is it you wish?”

She hesitated and a bright blush rose into her face. _Oh, my love, not that. Not now, when it would hurt you._ But it was not what he assumed.  
“Will you teach me how to write with veilfire?”  
“Veilfire?” He was surprised and curious. “You mean to preserve the runes? There are not so many, I will be happy to copy them out for Dagna to share—”  
She pressed her fingers gently to his mouth. “No, not for runes,” she said, and the heat in her face grew fierce.

  
“If you are thinking of chronicling the Inquisition, veilfire might not be the best record. It transfers impressions, emotion, yes, but it is often incomplete. And only those who knew to use veilfire to reveal it would ever find it.”  
“Not— not for that, Solas. I want you to teach me how to— to do what you did for me. The other night.” She traced ‘lath’ into the back of his hand.  
“Oh. Well,” he stuttered, realizing what she meant. He recovered quickly. “It is a mighty gift,” he said with a sly grin. “The lamplighter didn’t give it to Dirthamen freely. She required an exchange. I am uncertain I should just _give_ away the knowledge of such a thing…”  
“I am not seeking the way through the Fade. I think your price ought to be less dear than hers,” she was smiling, but she was twisting her fingers around a blade of grass, and he knew she feared she had overstepped. It was endearing, to see her shy about such a simple, lovely thing. An easy gift, far removed from the suffering she’d gone through in the past several days. He could not resist drawing her out a little farther, forcing her to play, to be merry a little longer.

  
“I do not know— you _are_ the Inquisitor, after all. You can well afford a decent bounty for what I know.” He pulled a thick piece of straw from its stem and chewed the end as if thinking hard. He sank to his back. “I shall have to consider— you are right, of course, to point out that the price ought to reflect what you intend to do with this knowledge. Why do you wish to write in veilfire?”  
“There is someone I greatly admire,” she said softly, “But I fear he does not know how much. I would tell him, but I do not think he would let me. Or believe me. If I could write in veilfire, he would know. He would see. Without being embarrassed that other eyes were watching or other ears listening.”  
He pretended to scowl and failed. “I see,” he teased, flicking the straw away. “You only want the veilfire to schedule secret trysts with this man. A frivolous use of such a sacred gift. I do not think I shall grant it.”  
“No, emma lath, nothing so crude. I would leave letters quietly and slip away. Show him how the memory of his kindness guides everything I do. How his calm, gentle words bring me peace when I am most troubled. So he would finally know how beloved he is. That all I desire is his happiness. So that he could read the words over again if we— if ever we part, and be certain he is never truly alone.”

His eyes pricked with unexpected tears. “Vhenan—”  
She bent to kiss him, but hissed with pain as her bruises compressed. He caught her, easing her back into the rustling grass.  
“I’m sorry,” she said with an embarrassed laugh, “that was stupid.”  
“It was not,” he said, chasing her gaze at it flickered away from him in shame. “It is a beautiful idea.” She turned back to him. “If only you would write letters to me instead of this mystery rival…” he said, trying to draw her back.  
“Solas—” she said fondly.  
“No, no, I understand. It was to be expected, a woman in your position can hardly be expected to wander around the wilds with a hedge mage. But there will have to be a duel, you know. In order to preserve my honor. And yours, Vhenan, let us not overlook that—”  
She shook her head. “Are you finished?”  
“I shall endeavor not to kill him. For your sake, my love. But once I see the face of the man who stole you away, I cannot promise to be answerable—”  
“I’m not scared,” she laughed.

He brushed the side of her nose with his own before completing the kiss she had tried to begin. “I will be happy to teach you veilfire writing. But in order to learn to write it, you must also read generous amounts. I suggest keeping a veilfire torch beside your bed—”  
“My bed? Is that your customary reading place? You have interesting habits, Solas. I will have to remember that— for future use.” Her eyes glinted with mischief.  
“Hmm. Veilfire is _memory_ , not desire. Or is there something wicked you mean to tell me, Inquisitor?”  
“If you keep calling me ‘Inquisitor’ I might _do_ something wicked.”  
“Is that so, Inquisitor?”  
“You are only brave because you think I cannot move. But I have a long, long memory.”  
He let his lips drift over the curve of her neck. “I am counting on it, _Inquisitor_. But, for now, let us focus on something you _can_ do.” He helped her up. “As we discussed, veilfire is memory and to communicate that to another requires a very clear, intense memory. But emotional memories are complex and can vary from moment to moment. It takes a good deal of practice to produce a clear script of such things. We should start simple. With a— sensation or a taste or smell. Something striking but neutral.”

She watched him intently, as if waiting for an illusion or a trick, all teasing forgotten in her earnest desire to learn this. “What do you suggest?”  
He thought for a moment. “Something with touch, I think. Fire or rain or fur. Snow, perhaps? It would be a welcome memory in this heat.”  
“Very well,” she agreed. “How does this work? I just— think of snow?”  
“It will work better in the beginning if you close your eyes and concentrate on the memory. When you have a clear sensation, begin to pull veilfire from the Fade.”  
Her eyes slid closed, her hands rubbing nervously along her knee for a moment before stilling. He held his breath as she lifted one hand and blue-green flames pooled and rippled along her palm.  
“Good,” he said, “you may open your eyes.” He fumbled around in the reports for an empty scroll. “Now, use the veilfire as you would either a pot of paint or a quill.”  
She hesitated. “In common?”  
“The language does not really matter— veilfire is its own language, that is what makes it unique.”  
She nodded and slid a finger along the paper, spilling a shining trail behind it. She looked up as the letters disappeared. “How did I do?”

He held out his hand for the paper, his other hand sparking with another ball of veilfire. He held it close to the page and felt a slight chill on the tips of his ears, a crisp, arid taste on the tip of his tongue. And then it was gone.  
“It was a good first attempt, Vhenan. But I think— did you have a particular memory in mind or was this more a general experience of snow?”  
She thought for a moment. “I _believed_ it was a memory, but perhaps I was mistaken. I cannot picture the place or time of day…”  
He smiled and brushed away the writing. “Don’t fret. It takes practice, but you will master it. Let us try again. Focus not so much on the snow, but on finding a clear memory that occurred when it was snowing. Something recent, perhaps? Skyhold? Or the lake at Haven?”  
She nodded and closed her eyes again. It took longer for the veilfire to appear in her open palm and her brow wrinkled in concentration. He handed the scroll back to her. She frowned and her finger slashed across the paper.

She looked up at him. “How much will it show? Can I choose what it reveals?”  
“Yes, in time. Are you worried about me reading it?”  
“I— it is not a _happy_ memory, but it is an intense one.” She handed him the scroll. He brought the veilfire to the page. His wrist was a choking ring of pain and his back burned with a soaking chill. His breath was a glittering cloud as it leaked from his lips and pain raked across his chest with every inhale. The coppery taste of blood lingered in his mouth. A few slow flakes of snow were silver stars in the gloom. They twirled down to land on his knee, but did not melt when it touched the skin where his leggings were torn. Over it all was a dense hum of terror. And then it was gone and he was on his knees beside her in the sunny, golden plain again.  
“That was Haven?” he asked.  
“Yes, after the avalanche. It was the clearest memory.”  
“We should not have left you. _I_ should not have left you.”  
“We were separated. There was nothing you could do— if you’d stayed you would have been buried.”  
Solas rolled the scroll tightly and began tying it closed.  
“No,” she said, reaching for it, “don’t keep that. Erase it like the other. This is not what I wanted to learn for. Let me try again. Something else. Something better.”  
“It is not something I should forget.”  
“Why? I am here, I am— well, I’m not whole, but not because of Haven. There is not reason to hold on to it. Erase it. Please, for me. You were so joyful just a moment ago— I did not mean to ruin the day. I didn’t know everything would come through. I will be careful after this.”  
“I don’t want you to be careful. Not with me. I will erase it if you truly wish it, but I would rather keep them. All of them.”  
She sank back, releasing the scroll, but looking doubtful. “Thank you,” he said.

A loud rustling made him turn as a scout approached. “Lady Inquisitor.” The scout offered them a deep bow and handed her a slim roll of paper. “A raven from the Western Approach.”  
She unraveled it as the scout walked away. “It is from Hawke. The others have reached her, but there is bad news. The Wardens are expecting a Venatori any day. They are in league with him. Solas, we _must_ go. I cannot afford to wait any longer.”  
“You can barely walk and it is a two day journey even on horseback. You would suffer great pain. By the time we reach them, you won’t be able to match a Venatori. Let me go instead.”  
“Not without me— we have seen them open rifts even after the Breach was sealed. You need me.”  
She was right, of course. The obvious solution was the nearby eluvian, but he did not know of any in the Western Approach that had survived. And even if he found one, it still did not address her weakness in battle. How would she move if she were in danger?  
“I don’t like this. The Gray Wardens are not worth the risk.”  
“Why do you hate them so much?”  
“I don’t hate them. I just think their methods are— simplistic for a very complex problem.”  
“Well, even if you are right, stopping Corypheus from becoming more powerful through them is worth the risk. And helping our friends is worth the risk. We have to go, Solas.”


	39. Incorruptible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQ2yXWi0ppw

“You don’t have to hold it back, the last scout is long behind us. We are alone. You need not be ashamed of the pain.” He had watched her knuckles blanch and shake as mile piled on mile. Her hair clung to her, heavy with sweat, though the sun had not yet reached its peak.  
“I am not ashamed,” she said, biting into her words as if she feared what would pass between her teeth, “but crying would lead to nothing except more. It would not relieve _me_ to speak, and I imagine it would hurt _you_ to hear. Some things are better left unshared, even between you and I. _Especially_ between you and I.”

  
He stared down at the coarse sand flowing beneath them. It was a sentiment he knew well. Better than she realized. “I should not have taken you to Arlathan. I apologize. It was a clumsy attempt to help in something you understand far better than I.”  
“Solas, that is not what I meant. I am unsettled by what you have shown me, I will not pretend that it hasn’t affected me. But it was necessary. A kindness, even. I meant it when I told you that I envied you for knowing the truth of things, for seeing what has been forgotten. It would have been far crueler to let me wander, to let me fumble through this world— through the Inquisition. How much more devastating would it have been— how much harder to accept, if I had discovered this from our enemies? Or along with everyone else in Thedas? To have them turn on us without warning— to be hunted without a chance to prove that we are not what we were?”

He was startled by her eagerness to distance herself, to distance all of the elves from their ancient kin. It was a significant shift. He saw, again, that the world had aged, had become something else. Had moved beyond him. He felt like a relic. Unwanted, unnecessary, alone. But her horse whickered as she pulled it closer to him, and he glanced over at her as her hand closed around his. Worry had overwhelmed pain in her face.

“ _Stay_. Wherever you’ve gone, come back. We’ll fix it, somehow. Together. Maybe the Wardens will be able to help—” she broke off as he let a nasty sneer curl his face. She straightened with some difficulty as her horse drifted away again. “Perhaps you should explain why you dislike the Wardens before we rejoin Blackwall. I cannot act with confidence knowing you two are so divided on this.”  
He silently cursed himself for drawing her into such fraught subjects. She needed rest, not anxiety. “Forget the Wardens. We have miles to speak of it.”

“I wish to push the pain away, Solas. I must put my mind to a task. Please. I promise we will talk of more pleasant things when we reach camp. When I don’t feel as if I’ll shatter at every step.” Her face was ashen and her eyes clenched shut. He wanted to halt, but he knew she’d resist. The whole thing was sheer insanity. How had he let himself be persuaded into this? She wouldn’t be well for weeks. He sighed. It was far too late for second-guessing.  
“Do you know much of the Joining ceremony that initiates Grey Warden recruits?”  
She shook her head, her eyes still closed. “I thought it was secret, like the Circle’s harrowing or the vigil that Templar recruits undergo.”  
“Yes. It is secret. They are all secret, each making slaves of their members. Slaves to each other, to faith, to the Blight.”  
“What? I don’t understand.”  
“The Joining is kept secret even to recruits. None except those that survived the Joining knows what it entails. They are forced to drink a vial of darkspawn blood, Vhenan. They believe that it gives them a power against the Blight. Some die immediately from the effects. Any recruit that _refuses_ to partake is slain, in order to keep the secret. Those who survive are bound to the brotherhood until their early death some years later.”  
“Solas! How can you repeat such a terrible rumour? You know the damage such stories can cause.”  
“It is no story. I wish that it were. I have seen it, over and over. The Joinings are so traumatic they create deep impressions in the Fade. If the recruits were given a choice in the matter, I might consider it just superstitious barbarity. Ignorant and dangerous, but at least the result of one’s own decisions. But the Wardens do not _offer_ membership. They take and take. Goods, people, secrets. The Gray Warden that has joined out of the urge to better the world is rare. Most are pushed. Either conscripted criminals who face the noose as an alternative or swept up in a desperate attempt to save their loved ones as the Blight crushes down on their village. It is no different from a mage child snatched up from its parents and thrown into a Circle or an elf stolen into servitude by the Imperium.”  
“That is far more shocking than a blood-drinking ceremony.”  
“It should not be. Because the darkspawn blood exposes them to the Calling. It changes them, makes them vulnerable to the Blight, but in ways that are different from you and I. More subtle, more dangerous ways. They risk altering their very minds and spirits.”

“Surely, it must have some value, the tradition has lasted centuries, has it not? Perhaps it takes power away from the Blight. Or builds up a sort of tolerance to it, so that they cannot be infected. Our Keeper used to say that a poison’s antidote was often found by distilling the poison, taking out the harmful elements and leaving the thing that would heal it. A person that is already slightly ill would not become _more_ ill by coming into contact with a sickness a second time.”  
“Certainly. It is a practical conclusion to draw. But your Keeper didn’t tell you to swallow the entire poison in order to chase the antidote or have you drink the humors of a person afflicted with Frost-cough if you were healthy. And Frost-cough or poison just kill you. They don’t make you a slave to another entity’s will as the Blight does.”  
The Inquisitor was silent for a moment, lost in thought. “Is it like blood magic? Not good or evil, just— just a tool in order to push back the Blight?”  
“If the blood mage willingly submitted to being possessed by the thing the mage meant to defeat, then it could be called similar.”

“Is it? Possession, I mean?”  
“No. These are not spirits. This is an army controlled by something else. Corypheus in this case. Spirits don’t work that way. They do not organize, they do not cooperate with one another. They have one drive, one purpose. Even the numbers that have come through the rifts— they are unlucky bystanders or spirits that wished to take advantage of an opening. Nothing more. I am not well versed on the connection between darkspawn and the Archdemons or between the Wardens and Corypheus, but I am certain that whatever is happening, its cause is _here_ , not in the Fade.”

  
“I believe you, emma lath, but— what choice is there? The Blight cannot be allowed to overrun the world, and the Gray Wardens are the only weapon against it that appears to be effective. We cannot let them fall. Unless you know a method of curing the Blight?”  
He shook his head. The method he and Wisdom had developed had only delayed the effects, and that on the ancient elves. He had no idea if it would even be effective any longer. “Alas, that is not something I have encountered. You are right, of course, we must save the Wardens from themselves and deny Corypheus his army. But I fear that nothing will cut them off from the Calling. Once open to exploitation, they will remain so for the rest of their lives. If they have, indeed, been persuaded to join forces with the enemy already, there may be no alternative.”  
“They saved us all just a decade ago. How can I cut them down?”  
“No, my love, they did _not_. Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden were barely joined when the Wardens were wiped out. They had no guidance, no aid from the Wardens until the last moments. Indeed, the Hero of Ferelden was last seen searching for a cure. More than the other Wardens have attempted in centuries. She and Alistair tried to leave that life behind. The band they collected were diverse, just as the Inquisition is. It was chance, alone, that a Warden held the blade in the end. It was a group of people in the right place at the right time with a willingness to try, just as it is today. We do not owe our lives to any misunderstood ritual or secret technique or powerful transformation. And we cannot risk the world they suffered to save by allowing nostalgia or fear make our choices for us.”  
“Yet she, Alistair, Blackwall and Stroud, probably among many others, are tied to the fate of the Gray Wardens, though they have chosen to ignore Corypheus’s false Calling. The others were tricked— I cannot ignore the circumstances, Solas.”  
“I don’t wish them ill, Inquisitor. I hope they remain the men and women that they were. But if something has changed them— we do not hesitate to battle the red templars. It is an act of kindness, as well as pragmatism. I fear the same may be true of the Wardens. We cannot know until we meet the others.”

They lapsed into silence, and his thoughts drifted. She had a point. At the moment, the Wardens were the only force capable of facing the sudden flood of Blight should the worst happen. Even were he to somehow build an army of his remaining kin, it would take Solas time to make enough of the tincture to push back the Blight that would inevitably infect their ranks. How had time slipped away so quickly? If only he had listened when Wisdom tried to rouse him. Perhaps, by now, they’d have found a cure. Perhaps, by now, the crisis would be long past and _this_ , the connection that had grown between them, would be a source of unadulterated joy, instead of a thing forced to grow in half-shadow and doubt. He shook his head. It did no good to dwell on regret, not with such a flood of peril rushing toward them all.

  
He could save her, maybe. He could try the tincture— if she were exposed. There was no way that she’d agree to hide, to wait, to stay safe. He glanced over at her, still tightening in pain at every jolt of the horse. Her pant leg had shifted up, exposing the yellowed bruises on her skin. He could see the anchor’s glow threading around her wrist. Despite their best efforts, it spread. The lone silver strand he had noticed in her hair a month previous had become a dozen, and he knew it was not only her recent injury that had made the soft, fatigued lines near her eyes. She _was_ fragile, though it had nothing to do with will. The tincture could kill her as easily as it could protect her. And it did not answer the question of others. Of the dwarves and humans, and yes, the Qunari. Having admitted that she was his equal, he could do no less when he considered the others. They had proven themselves just as passionate and intelligent as she had. He could not go back to believing them inferior or unfeeling. Nor did he want to.

He looked up at the shimmering scar in the sky. Even before the Breach, the Veil had thinned, had failed in places. It frayed and crumbled like ancient silk. The Blight was coming. Worse than it ever had, even in his youngest days. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. The Veil hadn’t been created for that. And all that might stand against it were a paltry handful of blood-addled Wardens. The more that Solas considered, the more he hoped for another way out, the worse his scant choices appeared. He could let it fall, let the Veil collapse without warning, when the spell finally ran out. The world would end. Of that he had no doubt. And soon. A handful of years, a decade perhaps. But they would die _together_. All of them, the darkspawn and Blight would swallow it all. No one left behind, as he had been.

Or he could take it down. Prepare the people he could gather, take a chance, hope that the tincture worked or the Blight could somehow be contained again. And work on Alexius’s amulet. Undo it all. It was a new possibility. One that hadn’t existed before the Conclave. The plan had been much cruder, much more destructive. But with the ability to travel through time— they had a chance. If he could make it work. He hadn’t done all the research necessary, but he knew already that Alexius had failed because of the Veil. It required power. Too much power in this muted existence. Alexius had only been able to get as far as he had because of the Breach. To reach farther back required free access to the Fade. Without the Veil, it would be enough. At least for Elvhenan. At least for his people. He hoped. If not— he did not know.

And her? There were only two possibilities for her, even when they recovered the orb. She died or she might not ever be born. It was the same with the others. Varric, Iron Bull, Dorian— all the same, the bloodlines would branch and shift, grandsires choose other mates. Other wars would be fought, other heroes emerge. He could not know which of his comrades would exist despite the changes and which— He knew the pain _he_ would choose, but he was unsure which she would, if he offered her the decision. If he offered them all the decision. But even as he thought it, he knew it was not a path to be determined by individual desires. It wasn’t really a choice at all. How could he let it all pass away when he knew how to prevent it? How could he refuse to save some just because he couldn’t save them all?

“When you threatened to leave Orlais to its own devices, to withdraw the Inquisition’s protection if the Duke and the Empress didn’t cooperate. Would you have gone through with it?”  
“In truth, we don’t have the forces to protect Orlais. We have to find and meet Corypheus before he becomes strong enough to threaten an entire country. I’m afraid it was a somewhat empty threat.” She shifted, trying to find an easier seat. “But if it had come to it, if I’d had to make a choice between protecting people that wished to work together and those that sought only to further themselves— yes, I would have left them to die. Perhaps that is cruel. It is a decision I would have been incapable of making several months ago. And it would be a difficult one now. Cullen keeps telling me that I cannot save everyone. I wish he was wrong.”  
“And now that the Orlesian Empire is running smoothly, if Corypheus threatened both Skyhold and Val Royeaux— how would you choose who to protect?”  
She was silent for a long while. He thought she might have forgotten the question as she stared down at the emerald light that washed her palm. “My heart would say Skyhold. My friends, my allies, _you_. It is not purely selfish, Skyhold is easier to defend, it stands a better chance of survival. But Val Royeaux is much larger. So many more could be saved. If, indeed, it _could_ be defended. Forgive me, emma lath, but I would choose Val Royeaux and trust my friends to understand, to endure until I could aid them. But I hope it never comes to that. It would be a terrible choice.”  
It helped, though she didn’t know, that she would have forgone her desires as well, that she might have chosen similarly to him. It grounded him, reassured him that he was not the mad god that others had built him into, that his reasoning was not malicious. If it were a cruel choice, it was less cruel than the alternative.

She sighed deeply and sagged a little as an Inquisition banner flapped just at the top of the nearby ridge. “Thank the Cre—” her lips snapped shut, and a shadow passed over her face. She masked it with a relieved smile when she noticed he had looked over to her. “I am glad we are here. I admit that last stretch was difficult.”  
“We should stop for the day.”  
“No, we are meant to make another three leagues before nightfall. We’ll water the horses and depart in an hour.”  
“It is too much, you are still injured. I cannot bear to see you suffer when it is unnecessary.”  
She twisted her hand in the reins, gripping the leather tightly. “It _is_ necessary. We must meet the others by tomorrow night, that distance has to be covered, whether I am sore or not. I can make it.”  
“You are being unreasonable. You _may_ make it another three leagues, but you will be lame and unable to complete the other six tomorrow.”  
“We have no time to—”  
“Ma halani!” Solas cried, “Must you be so stubborn? We may rest here, make up the time before dawn, if it comes to it, or— or get a wagon— by the _empty Void_ , I’ll find and tame you a _dragon_ to fly you there, if you just— I waste my breath.” He stopped his horse just shy of the banner and jumped down, grabbing the reins of hers. “Up,” he told the horse, briskly tapping its front knee. He twitched his wrist and with a small burst of magic, the shoe nails slid easily out, dropping the horse shoe into the sand with a dull thump.

“What are you doing?” cried the Inquisitor.  
“I can be unreasonable too, Vhenan,” he said, tapping the horse’s other front knee.  
“Solas, don’t! It will take hours for a farrier to come out this far—”  
“Hours that you could be recovering in.” The second shoe fell. He was not about to release the reins to reach the others. He gave the horse a stern look. It snorted and raised a back leg.  
“You hardly need to take all four—”  
“You think not? If I stopped at one, you’d be trying to re-shoe it yourself in twenty minutes. If I take all four, then at least I have a chance of binding you to a chair before you finish the job and take off again.”  
“This is ridiculous!” she cried. The horse was already lifting its last leg, and his own had wandered over to investigate.  
“I agree,” he said, “it _is_ ridiculous. But this is what you reduce me to, my love. If I thought kneeling in the searing sand and begging you would work, I would have begun with that. But you will have more pity for the horse than you will for yourself. Or my knees. Asking will not work. Any attempt at commanding would only make us both uncomfortable and _you_ more intractable. So I must resort to other tactics.” The fourth shoe thudded into the sand and he released her reins. “There, my love, you are free. Go and rest.”  
“What are _you_ going to do?”  
He glared at her for a moment. “Unshoe my own mount, for I don’t trust you not to take him instead.”  
She blushed and he knew she’d been thinking of the very thing. “Don’t,” she laughed, “I will make whatever oath you require. Don’t make more work.”  
“Do you swear that you will tell me when you need rest? That you will not push yourself to the point of collapse again?” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “At least for _this_ injury. We’ll negotiate the next when the time comes.”

She hesitated. He sighed and walked to his horse. “Solas, stop,” she called. “I swear.”  
“If you will not uphold your promise for your own sake, think of your companions. And Thedas. If you fall, they fall as well. We cannot do this without you.”  
“Yes, I know you’re right. But you must swear something to me, as well.”  
“Oh?” he asked.  
“You must promise to _believe_ me when I say that I am well enough to carry on. I know myself. I know what I am capable of. What I’ve already survived. You must trust me.”  
He took a deep breath. It was not a promise that he wanted to make. He _wanted_ to hide her away, to keep her in a distant corner far from harm. But what he _wanted_ was not what she _deserved._ “If you honor your promise not to keep your pain secret and to rest while you may, then I will respect your decision to move on when you are ready. I… _swear_.” He growled the last part through clenched teeth, but she didn’t seem to notice.  
“Good,” she sighed, “because I can’t bluff any more. I think the saddle may be the only thing holding me together. I don’t think I can dismount without your help.”  
He wrapped a hand around hers where it sat at her knee. “A few more steps, Vhenan, and then rest.”  
She shook her head. “I cannot let _them_ see, only you. Help, please?”  
He glanced over the ridge. “It is only a few scouts—”  
“ _Please_ , Solas. If I don’t walk into camp under my own power, they will send ravens— everywhere. A woman being swept from her horse is romantic, but hardly the incorruptible warrior saint we agreed was necessary.”  
He nodded and held up his arms to catch her. She sucked in a hissing breath as she fell into him, clumsy and shaking with pain. She let her breath even out before looking up at him. “Don’t look so grim, it’s just a few sore muscles. Nothing so serious. I’ve not reinjured myself.”

“Oh, but it is _very_ serious, Inquisitor.” He smoothed a loosened curl from her forehead with a frown. “We’ve had a grave misunderstanding and I believe some renegotiation is in order.”  
“Solas, that’s not fa—”  
“I _never_ suggested ‘incorruptible.’”  
She laughed, long and easy and his serious expression dissolved into a happy smile. “You are welcome to _try_ that resolve, my love, but I believe that decision is mine alone.”  
“Agreed,” he said, lending his arm to help steady her, “Though I volunteer myself for testing the strength of your commitment to it.”  
“ _Wicked_ man,” she laughed.  
His grin wavered and a jolt of sorrow wrenched through him, as if it were an echo and a prediction of her future self. The same accusation in other tones, with another face. He recovered before she noticed, swallowing a deep, dry breath. “More than you know, Vhenan,” he said lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps I've tipped my hand a bit early, but if I were reading this, I'd have run down on goodwill by now to keep the promise I made in the summary, so hopefully this helps.


	40. Swimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVbH22ymiEM

“Didn’t think you’d make it in time,” said Blackwall as he handed Solas a full waterskin.  
“It was a very difficult journey for the Inquisitor. Her breathing has recovered, but I fear she will still be too slow on the battlefield.”  
“Why didn’t you make her stay? We could have handled it.”  
Solas laughed. “She is far more stubborn than any of us knew.”

  
Blackwall’s expression was grim and disappointed. Solas clapped his shoulder. “It is not _you_ , Warden. The Inquisitor trusts you and Sera, truly, she does. But Hawke sent a message about the Venatori magister that is expected and she feared they would attempt to open a rift. I do not think she would have interfered otherwise.”  
Blackwall scratched his beard. “Do you think we could persuade her to stay well back, should it come to that?”  
“I think we have come to an agreement, yes. And she is still in a great deal of pain, it would not take much to persuade her that she should allow us to do the majority of the work.” He paused for a moment. “Do you have reason to anticipate trouble, Warden?”  
“We’ve been unable to find any clue about what the Wardens mean to do here, except for the arrival of the Venatori. But you don’t have a secret meeting to discuss the drapes in Weisshaupt, do you? And the fact that the Imperium is involved— well, they are hardly all pampered harmless princes like Dorian are they?”  
Solas prickled. “I do not think Dorian harmless. And if Tevinter were populated with others like him, it would be a much kinder place.”  
“Point taken,” grumbled the Warden. “But it does not answer the problem of the Wardens.”  
“If it is as dire as it appears, if the Wardens join Corypheus— where will _you_ stand, Blackwall?” Solas kept his stance loose, his voice casual, but the Warden seemed to sense the danger in the question. He drew back, his hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his side.  
“They will not join forces with that— _thing_. He is the Blight personified. It is unthinkable.”

Solas did not move, holding the Warden’s angry gaze with his own. Waiting.  
“But— if it as bad as that— then it must be by trickery. I _will_ fight Corypheus and the Blight where ever I find it, even if it means my own order must fall. I am with the Inquisition, Solas. We have no reason to quarrel.”  
“Are you two going to compare swords all night? I’m _starving_. Everybody’s waiting. Hawke says she has a deck of cards.” Sera squinted at them. “You can play, Droopy, but only if you help me clean out Hawke. Varric said she even took him once.”  
“Not Diamondback,” protested Blackwall.  
“Nah, Wicked Grace. Don’t worry, I’ll stop you before you lose your knickers again.” She elbowed the Warden. “You coming?” she asked Solas.  
“Thank you for the invitation, but perhaps I should check on the Inquisitor.”  
Sera smirked. “Glad to see you listened about her, but I wouldn’t _really_ hurt you. Much. Besides, she’s propped up near the fire. Hawke’s telling her all the naughty bits that Varric left out. She’s fine.”  
“Varric left something naughty out?” he asked with a chuckle.  
“ _C’mon_ , you can sit in her lap and she can ruin your bluffs with that _awful_ card face she has.”  
Blackwall’s laugh rumbled around them. “The Inquisitor does have a terrible time bluffing. I was shocked she managed it in the Winter Palace.”  
“We were _all_ shocked. Very well, Sera. A quiet game may be just what is needed.”  
“Pssh, who said anything about quiet?”

The Inquisitor was different while Hawke was with them. She laughed more frequently, more easily. She watched the others in their excitement gathering around Hawke with a palpable relief. At first, Solas thought it was Hawke, herself, that made the Inquisitor relax. The Champion was gregarious and pleasant. She was also a novelty for those who had been traveling with the Inquisitor for many months. And utterly unlike the Inquisitor. Bold and brash and accustomed to leadership. Not better. Not worse. Another flame in a cold world, just a different color.  
“I can see why Varric is friends with Hawke,” he said quietly, sorting the cards in his hand.  
“Yes,” laughed the Inquisitor, “They would have made quite a pair. I wish we could meet the others he has spoken of. Perhaps one day.”  
“Aren’t you going to deal the Herald in?” asked Stroud.  
The Inquisitor waved her hand with a smile. “It is a mercy, they know me. I’d lose my shirt. I am content to watch the others lose theirs, instead.”  
Sera snickered. “Yeah, _we_ know whose shirt you mean.”  
The Inquisitor blushed but risked a glance at Solas, something he would not have expected. It made him realize that it _wasn’t_ Hawke that had unwound her. It was shifting out of the center of everyone’s attention. For a night, she was just herself. Not the Herald, not the Inquisitor, not the leader. Just her. He felt a sharp stab of jealousy. He had tried to give her this so many times, to make her forget, to lift the weight that should never have fallen to her. But it was another who had succeeded. She had turned away, speaking quietly to Scout Harding on her other side. She was _happy_ , he realized, and the jealousy faded quickly at the thought. What did it matter who had accomplished it?

“Well then, Solas, your bid,” called Hawke, shaking him out of his long stare.  
“Yes, let’s try to satisfy the Herald,” said Blackwall, “I’d quite like to see you lose your shirt as well.”  
“Don’t get cocky. You still owe me a bucket, Warden,” he answered, tossing a coin into the center.

He resisted rising to find his waterskin, though the arid air and dust made him cough himself awake more than once. The previous days had been hard on him. The morning promised no better, and he resented any break in his sleep. After the fourth string of coughs shook him awake, he sat up flicking a small flame of veilfire into the nearby lantern in order to find his waterskin. The tent was hot, crowded with several bodies. He tried to keep the rustling quiet as he searched through the packs, but the waterskin was not among his things. _Where did I_ … he glanced around and spotted it next to where he’d been lying, glittering with frost. If he’d had any doubt who had placed it in easy reach and cooled it, the flicker of veilfire along its side would have given her away. He smiled. She’d left him a memory.

Solas tipped the waterskin up, letting the chilled liquid trickle down his parched throat. He sat beside the lantern and held the skin up to it, turning it so that the word reflected in the soft blue light. _Swimming_ , he read, and the blue expanded, deepened, swallowed him. It was vivid, this memory, as strong, in its way, as her memory of Haven. But without pain, without fear. He was weightless and sliding through the cold silk of Lake Luthias. The sun was a distant glow through dark strands of blood lotus and the voices of others pulsed through the water like an ancient echo. Solas became disoriented for a moment as his own silhouette glided lazily overhead, the light sparking off the edges of him as if he were aflame. A tight burst of joy and hope and yearning unfurled within him. The space of a breath, no more, and yet she had been so full of longing. She had been watching him, reaching for him. He could not place the day, the moment lost among so many others. He did not have her reasons then to pick it out. It must have been early. They had not been near the Lake since Blackwall had joined them. Before the Breach was closed, certainly. How long had she felt this way? How long had she kept silent? How long had he been beautiful to her? The smooth, cold touch of the water trickled away and the memory faded, leaving only the emotion behind. He sat, dazed, by the lantern touching the delicate lettering on the side of the skin. After a moment, he settled back into his own flesh and his first free thought was to find her. To slip beside her as she slept. But the space between Hawke and Sera was empty. Low voices floated outside the tent and he picked his way carefully over the others.

  
A sleepy guard paced the perimeter and the fire burned low in the sand. Stroud sat across from the Inquisitor, speaking quietly. The Inquisitor’s face was grim. Solas approached them. “May I join you?” he asked.  
She glanced up, but the sad expression didn’t break, even for him. “Of course,” she said.  
“I was just going to return to bed,” said Stroud, “If you’ll excuse me.”  
Solas nodded as the Warden stood and bowed to the Inquisitor. He wanted to ask her what had troubled her. But they seemed to be drowning in troubling things, troubling conversations lately. He wanted to ask her if she was in pain, to press cooling frost along her bruises. But it would only bring the discomfort to the forefront of her mind. Instead he pulled another spark of veilfire into his hand, scattering it across the sand in front of her, undulating letters of water and want.

His own vision of swimming. A memory of the storm coast, grey and rain spattered and clinging with salt.  
Dorian had been complaining of the wet and the chill for three days. At last, the Inquisitor had turned to the Iron Bull in a fit of frustration. “Ten silvers and the first round in the tavern when we get back if you toss him in,” she’d said.  
Iron Bull had grinned. “You overbid, I would have done it for a tankard of ale and the satisfaction.”  
Dorian grunted in surprise as Bull grabbed him and heaved. He came up spluttering, the Inquisitor doubled over from laughter. “What was that for? _You!_ ” he’d pointed at her and then looked at Bull.  
Iron Bull shrugged, “She paid me and tempted me with liquor.”  
Dorian’s mouth dropped open. “Then I’ll double it if you do her too.”  
“Fair’s fair,” laughed Bull.

The Inquisitor had tried to dart away, still laughing, but Bull was quicker and in she went. She came up coughing and cackling and gorgeous, and Solas had followed them, robes and all, half terrified that one or both would drown in the surf. She’d swirled around him, splashing, playing, not in the slightest danger. Oh, how he’d longed to kiss her, to taste the salt on her skin, to run his fingers along the sparkling web of drops that had caught in her hair. The memory faded and she looked over at him, her expression finally relaxing into a breathless smile. “That was a _good_ day,” she said.  
“They are all good days with you, even the terrible ones.”  
She kissed him and he was lost in cool, weightless bliss, the flicker of firelight a distant halo around her shadow.


	41. Justifying the Means

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uTAIpU0sa0

Stroud and Hawke had easily outpaced them, though the distance to the ruin was not large. The Inquisitor was slow and Sera, especially, was unwilling to leave her side now that they’d been reunited. The rogue hovered like one of her bees around the Inquis

itor, worrying and prodding, trying to get her to crack a smile. Solas could see the Inquisitor trying to play along, but the weight of Blackwall’s worry and what she now knew of the Blight and the Wardens was heavy upon her. For himself, he scanned the horizon for signs of rift activity. Except for the ones already marked on their map by the scouts, he could see none. It set his mind at ease. Perhaps the Wardens weren’t as far gone as he feared. Perhaps they, too, knew that it was a trick and had called the meeting in order to trap and interrogate the Venatori, to end the false Calling.

But Stroud’s expression when they reached the stairs of the tower was not reassuring. “I fear we are too late,” he said, “They’ve already started the ritual.”  
“Ritual?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“It’s… not good,” said Hawke.  
Blackwall pushed the Inquisitor gently behind him. “Let us go first, Herald.”  
“Got to keep that shiny bit safe in case we need it,” added Sera, afraid the Inquisitor would protest.  
“Let’s not assume anything until we speak to them ourselves,” warned Stroud.  
“Yes, perhaps there is a reasonable explanation.” The Inquisitor put her hand on Solas’s arm, as if holding him gently back. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently to assure her he would follow her lead.

They crossed the narrow stone bridge and could hear raised voices ringing off the steps.  
“This is wrong!” cried one.  
“Remember your oath,” sneered another.  
Blackwall and Stroud exchanged a glance and hurried up, Sera darting behind them, looking for a way to circle around unseen. Solas grasped the Inquisitor around the waist and half lifted her as he hurried her up the stairs, trying to prevent more pain. There was an agonized cry from above and a gasp from Blackwall. The Inquisitor hissed and let go of him to clutch her arm as the mark flared and sizzled. It faded and they reached the top. A dozen Gray Warden mages stared vacantly at them, paired with demons waiting obediently beside them.

The Inquisitor looked up at him, the anguish writ large on her face. It was worse than either of them had expected. The Venatori magister noticed them and gave them an extravagant bow. “Inquisitor, what an unexpected surprise. Lord Livius Erimond at your service,” he said.  
“What have you done?” she cried. She turned to the Wardens. “The Calling is false, you don’t need to follow this man—”  
The magister began laughing. “They cannot hear you. Or— I suppose, they can _hear_ you, they just don’t care.” He demonstrated, moving the Wardens in unison with a simple vocal command.  
“What manner of treachery is this? What have you done to them?” demanded Stroud.  
“I? I have done nothing, they did this themselves. The Calling made them desperate with fear. How would Thedas survive a blight if all the Wardens died at once? They searched everywhere for aid. The Venatori simply… provided it.”  
“Aid? Your master _created_ the Calling. What aid could you possibly offer?” asked Solas.  
The magister shrugged. “Clarel and I hatched a plan to wipe out the Blight for good.”  
“Impossible,” muttered Solas.  
“Clarel agreed to raise an army and march on the Deep Roads—”  
“She _has_ an army,” said Blackwall.  
“But not as powerful as a _demon_ army. The Wardens planned to take the battle to the darkspawn, wipe out the Old Gods before they could be corrupted and become Arch Demons.”  
“Right, because throwing more magic at the massive demon-thing was going to help. Barmy.” Sera was bouncing on her feet, her daggers already drawn.

The Inquisitor paled. “I saw this,” she whispered, “I saw this at Redcliffe.”  
Solas felt a chill rattle through him.  
“If that was the plan, why are they acting like this?” asked Stroud.  
The magister smiled. “Enslavement to my master was an— unfortunate side effect of the ritual. They belong to Corypheus now.”  
“And you? You do not have a spell commanding you, why do _you_ submit to Corypheus?” said the Inquisitor.  
“Because Corypheus is _more_. He controls the Blight, commands it, wields it. More powerful than any mortal, more powerful than the ancients even. He will be a god, and the Venatori will be his valued apostles.”  
“He is false, a pretender. A failure. He has been thwarted at every turn. It is not too late to turn from this insanity. Let them go, Erimond.”  
“No.” He raised an arm and a pulse of magic slammed into her. Solas saw her buckle as the mark flared again. She cried out as she sank beside him, and he caught her.

“Corypheus warned me about you, Inquisitor. That mark you bear, the one that allows you to pass so easily through the Veil— it was stolen from my master. He’s been forced to consider other options to make his way into the Fade. But I will bring him your hea—”  
The Inquisitor pressed herself up, leaning heavily on Solas and raised her own arm pushing against the Veil. It rent and sent Erimond tumbling. “He talks too much,” she said through clenched teeth.  
Erimond was up and running, commanding the Wardens to close on the Inquisition’s party. She caught Blackwall’s eye for a moment. “I’m _sorry_ ,” she said.  
He shook his head. “Stay behind us, Inquisitor.” He whirled on the first demon, slamming into it. Sera was already dodging another. Stroud and Hawke were clearing their flanks. Solas stepped in front of her, holding her behind him.

“Keep the barrier up, let us do the rest, Vhenan,” he shouted, “Stay close.”  
_Please don’t argue, just this once,_ he willed her.  
And she did not. Her barrier shot up and then her back was pressed against his, and he could feel the movement of her arms as she cast. The warmth of her was a comfort, even in the chaos, a solid proof that she was there, that she was standing, that she was as safe as could be expected in a battlefield.

  
They were outnumbered, even with Stroud and Hawke. Sera was slipping in and out of sight, the flash of her daggers a strobing light around them. Blackwall was silent except for the occasional slam of his shield, but Solas could tell he was not hesitating. “There’s too many,” shouted Hawke, dropping back toward them.  
“Get them to the stairs, make a bottleneck,” Solas shouted back. He reached to touch the Inquisitor’s elbow. “Mines?” he asked her.  
“We will have to retreat last. Place them every third stair,” she said and spun out to stand beside him. _She’s too slow,_ he thought. But he cast a wall of ice, giving the others a chance to take position halfway down the staircase.  
“Ready!” called Blackwall, and they began laying the traps.  
“Hurry!” yelled Sera and Solas looked up as the ice sheet cracked and shattered.  
“Last one,” said the Inquisitor without looking up. The demons were through, already triggering the first trap.  
“We have to move,” warned Solas.  
“Almost—”  
The second trap set a human Warden aflame with an agonized scream. “ _Now_ ,” hissed Solas.  
She finished and stepped down a step toward his outstretched arm. The last of the demons hit the final trap just behind her as the first broke free and began closing in again.  
“Inquisitor!” shouted Hawke.  
Solas leapt up to meet her hand and yanked, sliding through the Fade. They tumbled down the bottom steps as he emerged.

Her groan was lost amid the crash of metal as the others engaged again. He crawled toward her, wincing at his own bruises. “Forgive me, forgive me— I did not mean to—”  
“I’m uninjured, it’s all right,” she said, alarmed at his panic. “Just a little shaken. I’m safe, we’re safe.”  
She looked up to the others, who were finishing off the last demon. “It’s over.” She let him pull her up, pressing a hand to a lump at the back of his skull that he hadn’t even felt yet. A rush of healing flooded him and it was gone before his head even began aching.  
“Is everyone well?” she called up to the others.  
“I don’t know that I’d call it ‘well’, Herald, but we are all whole,” said Blackwall as they climbed down to meet her.  
“I don’t understand— how could they think this was reasonable?” she asked.  
Stroud sighed. “It is not entirely mad. In theory, wiping out the Old Gods in one fell swoop could end the Blight forever.”  
“We don’t know that,” snapped Solas, “Even if they were already corrupted, exterminating all the arch demons could make things even worse. At least the darkspawn answer to _something_. Without the arch demons it might be total chaos, no retreat, no reprieve, just constant, unending Blight.”  
“We don’t know that either,” said Blackwall.  
“Are you seriously condoning blood magic?” asked Hawke.  
“If it stops the Blight—”  
“It’s bullshit Beardy, demons and blood and rifts— that’s how we got here in the first place,” shouted Sera.

  
The Inquisitor threw up a hand. “Enough! This is getting us nowhere and it truly doesn’t matter. Not right now, anyway. Whether or not killing the Old Gods is the answer, that’s _not_ what the Wardens are doing. What they are _doing_ is enslaving themselves to Corypheus. I promise you, he does not want to end the Blight. You heard Erimond, it is his weapon. We have to stop this. What comes after— will come _after_.”  
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, you are right, of course,” said Stroud. “There is only one place Erimond could be heading. Adamant Fortress. It is not distant, but there is no way we can take it with a force this small. We will need the Inquisition’s aid. Hawke and I will make certain that is where he is gone, while you rally your troops. Rest Inquisitor. We need you. We will meet you at Skyhold.”

They were all relieved when the Inquisitor decided not to press for home that day, resting instead at the nearby camp. Blackwall was quiet and seethed with repressed anger. He avoided even Sera and slipped away into the desert shortly after they had eaten. Sera entertained the scouts and pestered the guards, but mostly left the others alone, too embarrassed that she had sided with Solas instead of Blackwall to face them.  
“You cannot possibly think the Wardens’ plan is reasonable, even without Corypheus to meddle in it,” said Solas abruptly, uneasiness bursting out in the silence.  
“I think it was a suicide mission. But I think they realized that too.”  
“And the rest of us are meant to pay for their folly?”  
She shook her head. “I don’t know. As Stroud says, it doesn’t seem entirely without merit. But— after what you showed me— what if they let something else loose? What if there is more behind the arch demons? Or if tracking them to their home unleashes them all?”  
“They cannot be allowed to follow through with this plan.”  
“They will not, Solas. I will not let Redcliffe repeat itself.”

  
She was silent for a moment. “I will admit, though, it was not _that_ plan which disturbed me most. What did Erimond mean when he said Corypheus was seeking other ways into the Fade? What other ways are there?”  
He stared out at the desert, thinking. “That, Vhenan, is an excellent question. I will need the library. And Dorian. And possibly Dagna, if you can spare them.”  
“I don’t think there is a more pressing question at the moment. If I can help?”  
“Always. I will divide up the research materials when we get back and give you a list to request from Orlais.”  
“Maybe Morrigan can help with that.”  
He fell silent, thinking. Worrying. “It will be good to be home,” he said at last. “I miss the others.”  
“As do I,” she said, “and the lack of sand. Varric would hate this place.”  
He smiled. “Varric hates every place. Except Kirkwall.”


	42. Eavesdropping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbUQsNhAlaA

“But blood magic?” protested Cullen. “There must be some mistake.”  
“It is no mistake, Commander. We saw it with our own eyes,” said the Inquisitor.  
The war room was crowded, stuffy. A ripple of shock had emanated from her, traveling through the others as she had told them what happened in the Western Approach. It was Cullen who had broken the stunned silence first.

  
“I’ve _known_ Grey Wardens, Inquisitor. They have been good people. Done good things.”  
Sera scoffed. “You didn’t know them all, did you? Thieves and bullies, those are the ones I met. Outside of Blackwall. Stroud’s okay, I guess. The rest though— it’s all ‘need this to battle the Blight’ or ‘do as I say if you don’t want to be darkspawn food.’ As bad as the Blight, most of ‘em.”  
“They do as they _must_ ,” said Leliana sharply. “What no one else will do.”  
“Maybe there is a good reason that no one else will do those things,” said Solas. He tried to be gentle, but Leliana bristled.

  
“They _saved_ us. In living memory. She warned me there would be little gratitude, but this is beyond what I expected. The Grey Wardens are heroes. Have you forgotten already?”  
“No. I have not forgotten, Leliana. Not what the Wardens have done. Not what the Hero of Ferelden has done. Not what _you_ have done,” said the Inquisitor. “The Wardens have been tricked. Promised something impossible in exchange for a dire price. The _have_ saved us, and I am grateful. So now it is time for us to save them. They cannot be allowed to go through with this.”

Leliana was pacing, circling Solas now. “Just because you share his bed, doesn’t mean you must bend to his will, Inquisitor,” she hissed.  
He stepped back, shocked at her bluntness. Josephine started and scrambled to recover. “Leliana, that’s not really our business—”  
The spymaster whirled on her. “It _is_. When it affects the functioning of the Inquisition, it is most definitely my business. And all of yours.” Her glance swept the others in the room. Solas risked a look toward the Inquisitor. Her expression was thoughtful, and troubled. Leliana had given her pause.

“Oh?” asked Morrigan, a sly smile spreading over her face. “And when we were battling the arch-demon? I didn’t hear you complaining about the Warden’s relations then.”  
“You’re right. Perhaps if I’d been paying more attention to _your_ activities, Morrigan, Kieran wouldn’t be—”  
Morrigan shot up from her seat and Leliana bit off her own words.  
“Yes,” Morrigan seethed, “Kieran wouldn’t _be_ at all. And neither would your lover. Do not forget who it was that saved her.”  
That they were skirting something old was obvious, but confusing. He did not know what the boy had to do with the Wardens or with his own relationship to the Inquisitor. Probably little. Leliana’s anger was unexpected and unsettling in this direction. She turned from Morrigan and back to him. “I will not make the same mistake twice, regardless of how fortunate it turned out for me the first time. The stakes are too high. I know so little of you, Solas. And yet you influence the choices of the Inquisitor herself. Who are you? Why are you tugging on this particular string?”

Cassandra laughed and the spymaster turned to glare at her. “You fear he holds some sort of sway over the Inquisitor, truly? That’s what this has been about?” She stilled her laugh, but her smile did not fade. “The Inquisitor and Solas argue as much as the rest of us. Except for what to do with the mages, they have rarely been in accord.” Cassandra shook her head and looked fondly over at him. “And the Inquisitor almost always wins, anyhow. If anything, _she_ is an influence over _him_. They are just— quieter in their disagreements than others.”

Solas was uncertain how he felt about that. Yet what Cassandra had said was true. Leliana shook her head and refocused on him. “That’s what he wants you to think. Solas plays a very long Game. Do you not? I _heard_ you. Did you know the acoustics in this place behave strangely? Perhaps you should rethink open balconies next time you make a confession. ‘I resigned myself to speaking for you. To using you to gain a better end.’ That is what you said, isn’t it?”  
The Inquisitor was backing away from them both, hurt and shock chasing across her face. He could only hope it was not for him. He half turned toward her, pleading. “I was _wrong_. I said it then, I will say it again and again until—”  
“But you meant it. You let it slip, that piece of truth, didn’t you?” snapped Leliana. “You intend to use the Inquisition for your own ends, make a fool of the Inquisitor. The faceless apostate who ruled the world through his charms in the bedroom—”  
“Enough!” shouted the Inquisitor. “No one is sharing my bed.” Cole was hovering near her, rubbing his head as if it ached. The others were shocked into silence. The loneliness in that one phrase made it hard for him to breathe. How much had it cost her to admit that? Solas felt his skin burning, could see the flush in hers. His eyes slid closed, and for a moment he considered grabbing her hand and Fade stepping out of the room, out of the fortress, out of the very world.

“I don’t believe you.” Leliana’s statement broke the silence. A roar of protest overtook the room and when he opened his eyes again, most of the others were standing and shouting. It was Vivienne’s voice that broke smoothly through the chaos at last.  
“This is beneath you, my dear,” she said, the only one still casually draped over her chair, as if she had expected all of it. As if it were an inevitable conversation. He supposed it was. “And it is certainly beneath Solas and the Inquisitor. Barring a few stray looks and a kiss or two, they have been a model of propriety. Done everything we’ve asked of them. Solas has had opportunities to use their connection. Ample opportunities.” She shot him a significant look. “Each time, he’s refused. And the Inquisitor— bless you, darling, but you are an open book to those familiar with you. I thought you were naive at first, too. We must forgive Leliana, she does not know you as we do. You are an idealist. An optimist. Perhaps to a fault. But not silly. And not duped. Your choices have all been your own, and I stand with you. Even if we disagree on occasion.” Vivienne smiled, and it was genuine. Warm. The Inquisitor managed a nod back. Solas was startled that support had come from her, of them all, but deeply grateful.

Cullen cleared his throat, focusing intently on the war map in embarrassment. “So— as regards Adamant fortress—”  
“One moment.” Leliana paced back toward the Inquisitor. “If what you say is true— if you’ve taken no one into your bed, let none have any undue influence over your decisions, would you swear to keep it that way until Corypheus is defeated? For the good of us all, Inquisitor.”

Something in him died at her hesitation. She did not look at him, and he turned away so that he didn’t have to see the anguish in her face. “I—” she started, but Morrigan interrupted.  
“Don’t answer that,” she said sharply. “Leliana, you ask too much. More than just skipping a romp. If someone had asked that of the Warden— what would your response have been? If someone expected her, and _you_ , to avoid each other, to stop speaking, to stop touching, to go into a deadly battle with nothing of joy to hold onto, what would you have said? That is the weight of what you ask. And it has _nothing_ to do with Adamant. That is what we are here to discuss, is it not?”  
“The Hero of Ferelden is far away. I hope she is unaffected,” said Blackwall, at last. “But she may not remain so, if we don’t stop the rituals. Regardless of whether the Wardens are— wise or not, they are not getting what they bargained for. They aren’t fighting the Blight anymore. They need help, mistress, our help. There is nobody else strong enough to take Adamant. If we do not stop it— no one will. They will all fall. Corypheus will not stop with Orlais. He will Call them all. Every one. Some may not be as easily tricked, but those that resist will be forced to fight their own brothers. Is that what you wish for your love?”  
Leliana was silent. Troubled.

“This is what Corypheus wanted,” said Iron Bull. “Chaos. For us to turn against each other. What Dorian and the Inquisitor saw in Redcliffe— that was the end result. It didn’t start that way. It started like this. Small, in back rooms, in councils, in questionable deals. He may have lost Orlais, but there are many ways to start a war.”  
“Then we are playing into his hands,” snapped the spymaster. “We descend upon Adamant with our forces and battle the Gray Wardens and wipe each other out. Or cripple each other. Our allies rally, and it either distracts or destroys the strongest players in Thedas while Corypheus carries out his plans. We cannot win here.”  
“Not if we play his way, no.” The Inquisitor had recovered, bending over the map, her back to him. But he felt a strong pull of her magic against him and tried to calm his own racing thoughts. “But we know there are some who resisted. Who knew the Calling was wrong, that dealing with the Venatori was wrong. There must be others hiding among the Wardens at the fortress, scared or reluctant to stand against their own. We will try to show Clarel that Erimond is lying. We will try to save whomever we can. Commander, if you instruct your troops to accept any who surrender, we may yet salvage the Orlesian Wardens. Josephine, what Leliana has pointed out is true. We need our allies to stand apart. To take the Inquisition’s place if we should fall. It is time for Celene and Gaspard to make good on their promises. The mages too. They must rally, but not to our aid. They must be ready to defend Thedas if we fail. Nevarra, Antiva, Tevinter, everywhere. Any allies, any favor we’ve curried, we need to warn them. Bull—” she turned to face them, “I know you’ve been sending reports, but this too.”  
Solas made a strangled noise of protest. She looked at him then, but he couldn’t read her expression. “We may not all agree on the Qun, but it may be that the Qunari dislike of unrest saves everyone,” she said.  
Iron Bull nodded, but remained silent. The idea seemed to unsettle _him_ as well.  
“How soon can we get troops to the fortress?” she asked.  
“They are still gathered because of Halamshiral. We can be ready to depart in the morning, and reach Adamant in a week,” said Cullen.  
“But the Inquisitor is still recovering—” protested Josephine.  
“We cannot wait for me. I can hobble along well enough. Every day we waste waiting for my body to catch up, we risk losing more Wardens. Or all Wardens. We leave in the morning.”  
“But—”  
“Those are my orders,” said the Inquisitor. She walked out of the war room in utter silence until the door banged behind her.

Cullen let out a breath. “See to it, people!” he barked. And everyone began moving. Solas just waited, a still stone in the flow of the others. They did not look at him. Except Cole, who hovered.  
“She needs you more,” said Solas at last. The boy nodded and winked out.  
Eventually, he stood alone across from Leliana. She circled the war table, putting it between them. He had no doubt she was readying for a fight.  
“If you are expecting an apology, Solas, you will continue to wait. I do what I must to protect the Inquisition.”  
“I do not. I am not the one who is owed an apology. It is not _my_ integrity you questioned, but the Inquisitor’s. And when you realize that, you will do what is right. As I have.”  
“Then what are you waiting for?”  
“The questions that you are so obviously longing to ask. Now that we are alone, perhaps I will consent to answer them.” His fingers rippled with unspent energy.  
“And you will be truthful?” She leaned over the war table, staring at him.  
“As truthful as you wish me to be.”  
“Why now?”  
“Because my silence has made you hurt someone that I deeply love. Because it may have swept everything I cared for away from me.”

She retreated, and he knew his words had struck home, somehow. “And after?” she asked.  
“It depends on the questions.” He could feel his arms tensing, his fingertips prickling. “Choose wisely.”  
Leliana folded her arms. “I am more formidable than you seem to think.”  
“I do not doubt it. If it comes to that— I do not much care who departs this room, in the end. It is entirely up to you.” He was startled to realize he meant it. He had no doubt what Leliana had done would drive the Inquisitor from him. How could it not? And without her— the choices he had left were poor ones. He could not save her, no matter what he did. It was as Dorian had said, a day he strove to push farther away, but her death was coming. And it was close. The same for the others. As much as they meant to _him_ , as valuable as their existence was in his heart, the result would not alter. Crushed by the Blight or undone. Neverborn. And he was tired of deciding alone. Let Leliana do it. Let fate pick.

“Then— I have only one question. If you do not answer honestly, I will kill you. If you hesitate, I will kill you.”  
He inclined his head in agreement.  
“Do you wish to stop Corypheus or aid him?”  
“I wish to utterly destroy him. To undo all he has wrought, all he has been. To wipe him away so completely that even his memory is erased from the world. Is that sufficient?”  
“Yes,” sighed Leliana, “you may stay.”  
He turned to go and called back over his shoulder. “There will be no more eavesdropping on the Inquisitor, whether I am present or not. If I catch them, I will kill the agent that dares. Not even the Herald will stay my hand. You are free to continue what surveillance you have on me. You will find nothing. But she has earned her peace.”

He did not stop for an acknowledgment. He didn’t seek out the Inquisitor either, though he ached to. It would not help either of them. Not yet. Skyhold was humming with extra activity as orders came to move out the bulk of the forces. He wished to retreat to the rotunda, but he would have to deal with Leliana’s agents rushing to and fro and the mages as they readied defenses of the fortress and relayed orders from Fiona. He did not need to prepare himself for the journey, they hadn’t even been back a whole day. Perhaps Cole could tell him how the Inquisitor was faring. He headed to the tavern.

It was remarkably empty, even for late afternoon. Everyone was out and busy, even Sera was nowhere to be found, though he knew she must be packed too. He climbed the stairs into the quiet attic. Cole was not there. It was not a good sign. The Inquisitor must have been truly shaken. He sagged against the wooden wall. What had she meant to say before Morrigan stepped in? What had she thought? His own words, when spat out of Leliana’s mouth had seemed cold, cruel. He had not meant them that way. He had not _said_ them that way. But they would echo in the Inquisitor’s mind the way they appeared now. Wrench her further and further away. He would lose even her friendship. Over the damned _Wardens_.

“Cole said you might be here.” The Seeker’s voice cut through the muddle of misery. She held out a small earthen pot. “It’s for the bruising. Something my brother used to use. It will make the journey easier for the Inquisitor.”  
He nodded. “You should give it to her, then,” he said with a weak smile.  
Cassandra sighed and plopped the pot into his lap before sliding down to sit beside him. “It was a necessary conversation, you know. She didn’t have to do it so— publicly, but it _did_ have to be done. Things are getting serious. Choices are harder now. Leliana had to be sure.”  
“I know.” He played with the container. Cassandra was silent for a moment.  
“It does not make you— less, you know. Or her. There has been little opportunity for intimacy—”  
“It is not my pride that is wounded, Seeker. That we have not— consummated anything is not an embarrassment to me.”  
“Then why are you hiding here? None of us think differently of you—”  
“The Inquisitor must.”  
“Why must she? It isn’t news to her that you two haven’t been intimate.” Cassandra smiled, teasing gently.  
“It isn’t that. It has come to her attention that everyone, her advisers, her companions, everyone important to her suspects that I am using her. That it is all a sham. My own words damn me.” He scraped a hand down his own cheek. “And there has never been anything in my entire life as truthful as my feelings for her.”  
Cassandra gaped at him. “Were we in some other meeting an hour ago? Were you present in the room? Her friends _defended_ you. Including myself. We do not believe you are using her. If we did, I doubt you would have survived to this point, honestly. Leliana is panicked. She has her own feelings driving her words. I have never seen her so upset. The Inquisitor could see that, too. Besides, you are far too grim to be insincere.”  
He laughed, but it was bitter and hurt.

“So?” prodded the Seeker.  
“So what?”  
“She is upset, Solas. She hesitated, did you not hear? She did not want to promise to part from you.”  
He gave her a sharp and suspicious look. “She hesitated because she was unwilling to say it in front of me.”  
Cassandra shook her head. “You really _are_ an idiot, you know. Or your ears don’t work very well, I’m not certain. _That_ is a woman desperately in love. She hesitated because the Inquisition was asking her to give up what was most precious. More than her own _breath_ , Solas. Would she have done it? I think her sense of duty is stronger than many give her credit for. She might have. It would have been a grave mistake. It wouldn’t have been because she doubted you.”  
He was uncertain what to say. Cassandra sighed after a moment and got up. “Go on. She’s going to need that salve. And Cole will go mad with worry if she sits up on the bluff much longer. Me too. I’ve packing to do. We’ve all got packing to do. Nobody’s going to have time to interrupt— anything.” She smiled and shook her head before wandering off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chunk today, just two chapters this time, because I think Adamant and the Fade will possibly be long and I didn't really want to break it up too badly.


	43. Yield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFhvsLCNIXY&index=23&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

The sun had already sunk behind the mountains when he reached her, climbing slowly up the long hill, thinking long thoughts. Cole still sat beside her, stained purple in the fading light, a little bundle curled into himself. His hand was a tether to the Inquisitor’s. She saw Solas, long before he reached her, but made no movement to go. He hoped that meant she would still speak to him.

  
He sat down beside them, fiddling with the salve pot he had carried to her. They watched the lights of Skyhold light one by one, soft gold shimmers that softened the stone and made the cool evening seem warmer. “Cassandra wanted you to have this,” he said at last, “She says it should help with the bruising. It will make traveling easier on you.”  
“It smells of Anthony. How she remembers. It is a dear thing,” said Cole.  
“Thank you.” The Inquisitor took it gently from him. Her fingers did not touch his, and he wondered if it were purposeful or just ill luck.  
“I will go. There are no extra ears tonight, Solas. Not even mine.” He covered his own with his hands and blinked out. They sat silent for a time, letting the purple dusk slide into deep night without comment.

“You must know I—” he started, finally. But it stuttered out. “I’m—” he shook his head. Not what she’d want to hear. “What did you mean to say?” he settled on asking. “You may not have answered Leliana— but I would know what it is you wish.”  
She watched him for a long moment. “What I _wish_ and what I _ought_ to do are not always the same. I confess, when you told me there could be trouble— this was not what I expected.”  
“It was not in my thoughts either. It should have been, but I thought— I dreamed you were free to choose who you spent your time with. If I had been thinking clearly—” he slid a hand over his head in frustration. “That was a painful check. One that I would not have exposed either of us to. If— If you meant to agree to Leliana’s request, I will follow your lead.”

He held his breath. He could see no more than the outline of her face in the dark, and he repressed the need to illuminate it.

“I could not. I thought I should, I thought even _you_ might want me to, but I could not,” she muttered. “I know it may be unorthodox, what we have, what we’re doing. It might be selfish. But I cannot put it aside, even for the Inquisition. If this is to end, then it will end, but not because I avoid it or push it away.”  
He was able to breathe again.

“But I was— _we_ were so happy,” she said, her voice fading into a mournful breeze.  
He could not bear the darkness paired with that tone. A ball of veilfire flicked to the top of the cairn beside her and her face was a soft, carven thing. Tumbled and worn and smoothed, like an ancient stone of the sea washed up into the sudden warmth of the sun. “And now? Are you no longer happy?” The question was ridiculous. Of course she was unhappy. That wasn’t what was surprising. That she’d been happy before, in the face of it all, that had been an unexpected delight.

“Now I’m just frightened. Afraid to touch you— afraid _not_ to touch you. Afraid that everything we say has been heard and analyzed and stored up for later—” she tensed and her face snapped toward Skyhold. “What if someone was listening before— about— when we were driven out of Haven? Or at the inn? She _knows_ , Solas. How long before—”  
He wrapped a hand around her shoulder to stop her panic. “She does not know, Vhe— Inquisitor. If she did, that would have been a very different conversation. And— we have come to an arrangement. No one will listen to your private conversations again. I have made certain of that.”  
She relaxed and his hand fell away from her.

“You have not answered my question,” he said, when she remained silent. “I don’t know what you wish this to be. I would not press you into something you don’t want.”  
“I _want_ everything, Solas. But I do not _expect_ everything. I was content, before. Without all the eyes. Without all the judgment. I thought we would come to that— or— or not, in our own time.”  
“And so we shall, Vhenan.”  
She shook her head. “No, they will press us, one way or another. They have good intentions, even Leliana. But they will push and pull and pry. And even if it happens, I will wonder if you have just succumbed to expectation or if it is _me_ you truly want.”  
“I do not love you because it is expected. Nor because I think it will be good for the Inquisition. And I do not love you because it is to my advantage to do so. If you knew what it meant for this to have happened— if you knew how I’d altered, how much it has cost— we have so much to speak about. Not tonight. There has been enough turmoil these past weeks. Whatever occurs; if you defeat Corypheus and Orlais becomes peaceful and the mages free and the our people restored, I will love you the same as I do now. If it crumbles, if it all falls apart around us and the red lyrium encroaches and Corypheus crushes us, I will breathe my last still wanting you. It _is_ you, only you. Always you. Not what our friends think, not what they assume, not what they fear.” He searched her face, wishing he could erase the hesitation and doubt that lingered in her.

He glanced down at the fortress, certain they made a clear picture alone on the hill with the veilfire lamp beside them. He snuffed it, plunging them both into the full dark, her marked hand only a slight glimmer where it pressed into the grass.  
“It has been a very long time since I knew physical love, Vhenan,” he whispered, leaning in to breathe it into her ear. “But saying that I want it with you is too mild. I _crave_ you, as roots crave the earth they grow in. As flame craves timber. It is not a choice. It is an inevitable longing that will return again and again and again.” He sighed and held her forehead to his own. Her hands slid around his forearms, clinging, as if he would suddenly tear himself away from her. As if he could. “My love is not a lukewarm thing to be pushed or pulled or pried. _When_ we lay together, it will be when we are ready. Unrushed, unpressured. And it will be beautiful and clumsy and imperfect. Not an act rehearsed for the benefit of others. But there are— everything is still unclear. I would not spoil this— I would not ruin your affection by hurrying this. I have more to tell you, and then the choice would be yours. I do not want to be a regret any more than you do.” He stopped, rubbing a circle over the muscle in her jaw with his thumb, trying to ease the stiff tension there.

“I am frightened too, my love,” he admitted, and it felt as if he were releasing a boulder, the weight of it lessening. “When you know all, will you turn away? Will I lose you? Your love? Your friendship? Every moment with you seems the last, the very last. And the next moment comes and I hover between joy and terror again.”  
“Solas— what is it you think you have done? Who are you, really, that you think it would change how I feel? Whatever you _were_ , whatever you’ve done— how could it be any worse than what we’ve been forced into since the Breach? I cannot believe it is anything so awful. You need not fear that—” Her warm breath swept over him, curled around him, forcing back the chilled night air.  
“It _is_ , it _is_ , my love. You don’t know what I am—”  
She stopped him, pressing her fingers into his lips, as if she were trying to hold back the truth. “Then leave him behind. Whoever you were, whatever you’ve been. Let it lie in the past. This is who you are now, Solas. _Stay_. Not just here, not just with me. Stay who you are. Whatever you must do— _after_ , we can do together. If it is tearing down the slave trade in Tevinter, then so be it. I will help you. You are not alone, not any longer.”  
_Tevinter?_ he thought, _what makes her think of Tevinter?_ But her arms were around him and the thought vanished.

  
“What can I do to convince you that I will not turn from you? When Leliana plucked those words from that night and— and altered them, I never want you to feel the grief I saw in your face. I _remember_ what you said. All of it. I’ve never doubted you. Do not fear the power of others over me. Do not fall into the same trap that Leliana did. I am not swayed so easily. What words would be enough to make you believe that I cherish you? What would you have of me?”  
“I would not take more from you. You’ve already given me more than I deserve.”  
She laughed softly and traced his brow with one finger, the mark spilling soft light over his face. “Is that what worries you? Don’t fret. None of us _deserve_ love. And none of us are entitled to it. It is a gift, something granted without regard to reason or merit. It brings me joy to give it. Please, Solas, don’t fight it anymore. Accept it, it is the best of me. Reject the rest if it pleases you to do so, but _believe_ that I love you. Be brave, emma lath. Trust me.”  
“I do. Above all others.”  
“Then, no more fear. No more sorrow. Let us be happy again, for as long as we may.”

He was dizzy with the sudden shifts in him. It was so fast. He’d started the day content, fulfilled. And then raw terror and grief and guilt, his old companions, had settled so easily into their old places. And now— the relief made him light and disbelieving. He could not keep up. He did not realize that it had taken him too long to respond to her until she pressed a palm to his chest. “Solas?” she asked. “Are you well?”  
He didn’t have words for what he was. Not then. He pressed her hand with his own. She leaned toward him, trying to see him in the dark, her own light caught against his shirt. Her nose brushed his softly. “May I kiss you?” she asked softly.  
“I believe my heart will break if you do not, Vhenan.” His voice felt thick in his throat, pushing through the want and the fear as it did.

Three points of contact. The warm, solid bones of her hand against his heart, pressing away the wound there, smoothing its ache. The pulsing cage of her fingers at his temple and crown, as if she were shielding what was precious in him. And the soft, hesitant brush of her lips against his own. As if they were dreaming, as if she were afraid she dared too much. As if he had any power to reject her. If he hadn’t needed the kiss so badly, he might have laughed. If he hadn’t seen her so stricken by what Leliana had said, he might have risked teasing. But it was sacred, that slow, shy kiss. Sacred to _him_ , who hadn’t believed in divinity for centuries. Three touches and he unwound to her, let the anguish of the afternoon go, a scattering of ash in a hurricane.

Varric’s voice floated up the hill. “Ten minute warning Chuckles,” he called. Solas looked down to the bridge where the dwarf was standing, shouting into the dark. “I drew the short straw but the whole place will be in an uproar if the Inquisitor doesn’t show up soon. She’s been gone hours. Besides, we have _beds_ for a reason. Gotta get up early, kids. Right, see you in ten. Good talking to you.” Varric stopped shouting and waved a hand absently as he walked back toward the keep.  
She sighed into his shoulder and then pulled away.

  
“Don’t go,” he said, holding her hand in place against him.  
“You want to let them find us? Here?”  
“Stay with me. My quarters are small, but no one watches them. Be free of the eyes, Vhenan, be invisible with me. Until tomorrow.”  
“They will panic.”  
“Let them see you walk through the gate. They will know you are home, but stay with me.”  
“The others will assume—”  
“They already do. And if they assume it has happened, they’ll stop pressing us. Or trying to extract terrible vows that help no one.” His fingers tightened around hers, as if someone were trying to physically wrench her from him.  
“You are too clever, emma lath. I think you might be dangerous,” she touched his temple with her lips.  
“Please, Vhenan, stay with me. Let me be near you. We can go separately— I will wait a few moments after you’ve crossed the bridge. I can get you to the apartments unseen—”  
“Solas,” she said sharply, “I am not ashamed of you. Or this. Not even after today. It is not embarrassment that made me consider Leliana’s demand. I am— _honored_ to be loved by you. We do not need to sneak.”

  
_Honored?_ Such a thought was foreign to him. His own name had been forgotten long before he slept, brushed away in favor of a title he had not chosen. Those he helped— at best, they treated him with a terrified gratefulness, as if he might snap and smite them on a whim. They had learned to expect no less from the other Evanuris. A gift was often a prelude to punishment. And his rivals called him traitor when they deigned to speak of him at all. Who among all he knew had been honored to be connected him? Mythal perhaps, once. But she was long dead and had treated him more as a mother indulges a child than as an equal, even at the end. Wisdom, perhaps. Yes, Wisdom had treated him as if it honored him, though it never said so. To hear it tumble from the Inquisitor so easily, as if it were natural, as if it ought to be—

“Unless— unless _you_ are more comfortable keeping it quiet?”  
“What— _no_. No, my love, I wish only to make this easier for you.”  
She stood and held out her hand to help him up. “Then let them see.”  
She kept his hand and wandered slowly down the hill, her legs still stiff and sore. She did not hurry past the guards or duck her head furtively. She did not shy away when Mother Giselle saw them, but bade her have a good evening. Solas nodded at the bewildered Chantry Mother, but said nothing, only squeezing the Inquisitor’s fingers as she pulled him toward the causeway.

Cullen was just leaving for the tavern as they passed him. “Commander, is everything ready?” she called.  
He started at her voice, emerging from his teeming thoughts. “Y-yes, Inquisitor, sorry, I was just reviewing.” He tapped his forehead. “We will be ready to depart on your order.” He turned to Solas without any sort of blush or nervousness. “I’m afraid I’m only versed in nullifying some types of magic. I don’t think it covers whatever the Venatori are doing to the Wardens. Do you know of anything that might shake them from whatever— trance is controlling them?”  
“There are a few methods we might try, once the source has been dealt with. I’m afraid Erimond must go first, and we will probably have to force our way to them. But any Wardens who have not yet undergone the ritual ought to be in command of their faculties.”  
“That is a relief. If we move quickly, perhaps we may save most of them.”  
“I hope you are right,” said the Inquisitor.  
Cullen frowned. “We cannot know until we arrive at Adamant. You should not worry over this, Inquisitor. The journey will be taxing enough. Everything is prepared, except you. Rest, recover. That is your task right now.” He bowed sharply to them both. “Good night, Inquisitor. Master Solas.”

He continued on to the tavern and the Inquisitor led him up the stairs to his own door.  
“That wasn’t so terrible,” she said.  
He laughed. “That’s only because we ran into the two most gracious people in the keep.” He opened the door and pulled her inside the dark room. Her hand was a star shining through deep waters. She held it up between them, veilfire gathering in it, a puddle of cool blue, slow and spreading. It took her too long to be a casual light.  
“What is this one?” he asked.  
“Nothing of import.”  
“May I have it?”  
“It is nothing very interesting. I just— wanted to see your face.”  
“It would not stick in your memory if it was not interesting.” He held up his palm. “Please?”

She hesitated but slid her fingertip over his hand, his skin tingling in the path of the curves and lines she drew. The word shimmered on him, the glow of the veilfire grew as he read ‘waking’ until he was squinting against the bright morning sun. The sharp tang of a smoky campfire tickled his nose and he forced his eyes open.

“Great watchmen you are,” said Dorian looking down at him. “Glad there were no beasties around. Didn’t know you two were such friends. Solas didn’t seem to like you much when you suggested destroying the amulet.” Dorian shrugged. “But— I guess you made up then. Trust me, it’s much better if the clothes come off first, sorora.” He winked and walked away.  
The vision stuttered, blinked as the Inquisitor rubbed her eyes in the memory and then focused on the warmth in her hand. Solas saw his own hand wrapped around hers, loose and relaxed, but unmoving. It faded back into his open palm.

“Let me keep it,” he said, watching the small orb of light in her hand. “Do it again, let me keep it. You were so sad— I was able to keep out Redcliffe, but you were still so restless. You called out for someone— I don’t remember the name. I thought it must be one of your clan. When I touched your hand— you would not let go. But it let you sleep. So I— stayed.”  
“I am glad that you did.”  
“Let me keep it,” he said again.  
“There will be others, better. I don’t know if I like you keeping these bits— as if you are holding onto scraps because you are scared that the whole is already gone—”  
“I have told you how I feel.”  
“Then I think I will keep it, within myself. And prove that there is more coming, that you don’t need to hoard what is past because what is happening _now_ is as beautiful. More. You didn’t love me then. I’m not even certain you liked me then. Today is much sweeter, even with everything that happened.” She closed her hand, squelching the light. “I’m not gone. I’m here, with you. You have the real thing, not just the shadow.” She stood on her toes leaning against him. “You said you traveled to find new memories, new places in the Fade. _This_ is a new memory. This is a new time to explore.”  
His hands found her waist and he met her lips.  
“What? No argument to that?” she laughed softly against his mouth.  
“I have none. You are wiser than I. I yield,” he whispered. “I yield, I yield.”


	44. Adamant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVzjK3qhBVM&index=31&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

There was a sharp rap on his door and Solas woke with a start. He stretched and toppled off the narrow bed. Why had he been sleeping so close to the edge? He looked up, trying to sort through the previous night. There was the Inquisitor, pressed against the stone wall. She’d made herself small, but the bed wasn’t made for two. Solas laughed softly and the knock came again.

  
“Kaffas, Solas, hurry up. This tray is hot!”  
He hauled himself up and opened the door slightly. “Now is not—” he started, but Dorian pushed past him, interrupting.  
“I need you to hide these in your pack. Josephine is hunting me for borrowing too many manuscripts.” He dropped an armload of scrolls and books onto the table.  
“But I—”  
“Nope, don’t say it. My bag is full. Vivienne’s too. Had to leave behind a week’s worth of mustache wax in order to stuff in the last ones. You owe me. Besides, you have one change of clothes. What do you have to carry? If you want to find out how Corypheus plans to get into the Fade, then cooperate.” He put down a large tray of food. “Besides, I brought breakfast. Peace offering and all. I wanted to show you—” he turned to sit on the edge of the bed and caught sight of the sleeping Inquisitor. “Ohhh…” he breathed quietly, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I will pack them,” said Solas, keeping his voice flat and trying to gently steer his friend by the shoulder toward the door.  
Dorian glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispered.  
Solas smiled. “It’s okay.”  
“Glad I brought enough breakfast then. You could have warned a person.”  
“Apologies. Next time I will announce it to the Keep. Maybe post some signage.”  
“Very funny.” Dorian took one last look at the Inquisitor as they stepped out of the doorway and Solas shut the door gently behind them. “

Solas, my friend, are you certain you know how everything _works_? I mean— I’m obviously no expert on women, but I’m fairly certain she’s meant to be naked first. And I’m sure _you_ are. If you need lessons—”  
“Thank you, Dorian. I am familiar with that particular procedure,” he said dryly.  
“Oh, I get it. Fade shenanigans. You know, you’re going to have to try it for real someday. Blows the other method right out of the water.”  
Solas shook his head. “You’re just trying to bait me into a story.”  
Dorian grinned. “Have it your way, then. Cullen’s called for a start in two hours. But if the Inquisitor is too exhausted…”  
“We’ll be ready.” He opened his door again and turned to go.  
“What? That’s it? You aren’t going to bribe me with anything to keep silent? No details at all? Not even a hint?”  
He shrugged. “You did say I ought to warn people. The most reliable method would be gossip, would it not?”  
“Well I— are you implying I’m not the very spirit of discretion? Solas. I’m insulted. Just for that, I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. But that was your plan all along wasn’t it? You sneaky bas—”  
“Good morning, Dorian,” laughed Solas and shut the door.

“It is time to rise, Vhenan,” he said gently, pulling her from the wall.  
She sighed. “Another moment.”  
“Just one?” He crawled back into the bed behind her, trying not to press her into the corner.  
“One, several. Forever,” she mumbled.  
“Dorian brought breakfast,” he offered, but he slid an arm around her instead of moving.  
“Hmm.”  
“And the morning is cool and bright. It will be a pleasant day for riding.”  
“It is a pleasant day for this as well. Wouldn’t you rather stay here?”  
“No. I would rather—” he thought for a moment and then whispered.  
She twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “That might have been tempting if I understood more than five words of it.”  
“Commander Cullen’s troops will be ready to depart in two hours.”  
She scowled. “That is not what you said.”  
He smiled. “How do you know?”  
“Because you said ‘kiss’ and I don’t think Cullen makes a habit of kissing his troops.”  
“You know the sweetest part then.”

Her eyes opened fully and she threaded her fingers between his where they lay against her chest. “That is a comfort, at least. Whatever we have lost, at least the idea of love remains.”  
“Yes,” he agreed, “Love endures the longest, passed down from mother to child, from husband to wife and back. It may not have been the first idea, but I hope it will be the very last, in the end.”  
“Solas, if you are trying to coax me from my— _your_ bed, discussing the end of the world may not be the most effective method.”  
“Ir abelas, you are right, Vhenan.”  
“I believe you promised me a kiss?”  
“Is that the only word you recognized?”  
Her blush crept up to the tip of her ear and he laughed, pressing his lips to it. “I see that it was not,” he said. “I promised you several, had I the time.”  
He slid a finger over a streak of silver in her hair and her eyes closed again.

They were the last moments of peace he had for a long time. There was no privacy with the troops, just noise and movement and nervousness a slight step from panic. Whenever they weren’t en route, Dorian or Vivienne pulled him into their shared research or the Inquisitor was cornered by Leliana and Cullen to finalize battle plans. He’d exchanged no more than a few dozen words with her in the week it took to reach Adamant, and half of them had been limited to Inquisition business. He missed her, but there was work to be done, for both, and the time passed more quickly than he had anticipated. He held on to the moments in his quarters even as the soldiers rushed into battle.

“Perhaps I may at least make a start,” he’d said, and she’d started to shift, to turn toward him. He’d tightened his arm, holding her closer and she ceased. “Where shall I begin?”  
And her hand had clutched his as he kissed the soft spot beneath her jaw.

If he could touch it again— that spot, stop the anxious pulse that leapt under her skin as she gritted her teeth, pacing near him— the smash of the battering ram made her wince. Iron Bull squeezed her shoulder and she looked up at him with a smile. Solas was glad for it. Cullen was shouting orders to the soldiers in position ahead and Hawke and Leliana were twin shadows scaling the walls in silence with their groups. The Wardens were focused on the distant trebuchets and did not notice their doom creeping up from beneath.

“That is not the one,” he’d whispered. “But then, what fun would it be to discover it on the first try?”  
“What are you looking for?” she’d asked.  
“You’ll know when I find it,” he’d said. “It could take days. Months.” He’d curled to press his lips where her voice thrummed in her throat.

The gates buckled and soldiers poured through the gap, running and scattering. The Inquisitor followed them into the courtyard. There were demons mixed with Wardens in the courtyard.  
“We’re too late,” she cried.  
“For some,” said Stroud heavily, “but perhaps there is still time for the others.”  
There was a low murmur as the Warden mages began casting and the demons began undulating silently toward them. Blackwall sprang forward. The others followed, only the Inquisitor hesitating.  
“They aren’t redeemable, Vhenan,” he said, pushing in front of her to deflect a trickle of flame. “Not these ones. Their minds are not their own. If we can find Erimond, we can prevent more from being lost. You _must_ fight.”  
Then she was beside him, the sizzling crack of lightning spreading, branching like a tree before her. It was chaos, hard for him to tell which men were theirs and which they fought. Rubble rained down from the walls above and everywhere the screams of battle echoed off the stone. The scale of it was something she had not yet hardened to, even with all their combat experience.

He jabbed a demon with the end of his staff as it drew too close. It hissed and a sizzle of her lightning grew roots within it and spread, until the beast dissolved in a puff of ash. The silence in the courtyard unsettled him. He could think of no other time where he had been able to hear a hiss on a battlefield. Sera and Varric did not stop to shout their victories, nor Cassandra her prayers. Iron Bull did not roar or swear or joke. Vivienne was pale and silent, her hands flickering and dancing like flame, but her face still and sad. No matter how they’d argued about the Wardens, each knew they were fighting people who had been where the Inquisition had. That they might be killing future versions of themselves. People that ought to have been heroes. People who had meant well and now faltered.

“If you live long enough, no one is flawless,” she’d told him. He shook off the chill and focused on the impassive face of a Warden mage who no longer strived, but only obeyed.  
The courtyard was cleared quickly as the Wardens retreated to higher vantage points. Cullen commanded his men to engage the main force and urged the Inquisitor to hurry.  
“Keep them safe,” she said.  
Cullen shook his head. “We’ll do what we must, Inquisitor.”  
“What you _must_ do is defeat Corypheus, Commander. This is an important point, yes, but do not lose the war for the sake of one battle. I mean for us all to survive this, but if some do not— the Inquisition must not fail.”  
“Yes, Inquisitor. I understand.”  
A soldier fell from the battlement with a scream and they both looked up. “There’s too many,” said Cullen, “our men on the ladders don’t stand a chance.”  
“We’ll give them one,” said Solas.  
“It’s too big, we’ll never reach them in time. We have to split up, Inquisitor.” Cassandra grabbed his arm and began running, tugging Varric as they passed. “We’ll meet you at the top,” she called over her shoulder.

  
Vivienne and Cole followed them and they raced up the steps as the Inquisitor led the others to the opposite side. The panicked tug of her magic was painful. He pushed it aside and his barrier slammed up just as a cluster of abominations pulled themselves up through the stone. Cassandra smashed into the first of them and flame streamed from Solas’s fingertips, almost without thought. His power was returning rapidly.

“Almost,” he’d smiled as her breath caught, pausing, snagging under his touch. “But not the one.”  
“You know, if I figure out what you are up to, I have little incentive not to pretend you have not found what you are looking for. I like this game. I would let it continue.”  
She shivered a little as his warm laughter shook against her shoulder. “If you can pretend, then I have not found it. But patience, I enjoy this game too. I hope we have several rounds. And that tremor was very interesting, my love. I shall remember it.” He kept his mouth soft on the knob of her spine and she sighed.

He shot a quick look to the other side of the fortress, trying to see her, but all he could make out were flashes of light. Cassandra led them along the wall to the first ladder. The Wardens were throwing massive stones down on the Inquisition soldiers below. Solas sent a crystalline wave of frost at them, the stones in their hands crumbling to rubble within seconds. “Very nice,” said Vivienne smoothly. “And Dorian claims you have no flare.”  
He smiled and started another spell. But the blast of a horn seemed to make everything halt. The Wardens looked at each other in alarm. A few backed away slowly and then took off. The rest swore and returned to battle.  
“They are sounding a retreat,” he shouted.  
“She’s convinced some of them,” gasped Cassandra as she pushed a Warden into the wall. “Surrender now, we don’t want to hurt you. We just want you to stop these mad rituals!”  
But the Warden spat on her and struck his sword against her shield. “You are blind,” he shouted, “We’ll see how the Inquisition fares when the Blight creeps over everything. We are all that stands in its path. You _need_ us.”  
Vivienne sneered and sent a spirit blade spiraling toward the Warden. “We do not need demons. You’ve betrayed your order and your charge.” The blade pierced the Warden through the heart and he fell backward onto the stone. The few that remained battled silently until their end. Varric’s crossbow caught Solas’s eye as it snapped a bolt loose.

“I heard nothing of hands— da’lav, you did not say—” she broke off as he pulled the fabric from her shoulder. His fingertips grazed her smooth skin.  
“I said nothing about rules. Is it here?” His hand glided along the sharp bow of her collarbone. “No. I should have expected that would be too predictable for you.” He traced it back toward himself. “Though I am particularly fond of it. Your bones are deadly, emma lath. An archer’s weapon that does not miss.”  
He kissed the round of her shoulder and she caved in, just a bit, curled over his other arm and a wave of goosebumps passing under his lips.  
“Close, so close,” he said.

 

A corner turned and Solas was almost relieved to see the massive pride demon. They had to have picked the worse side, whatever she faced would be easier. Or so he thought until the crackling of a lightning whip snapped and he realized the demon in front of him hadn’t lifted its own yet.  
“The Inquisitor’s in trouble!” he cried.  
“Focus, Chuckles,” said Varric, “We’re all in trouble. We’re almost there. Deal with the lummox here, and we’ll have reached Hawke.”  
“She is well, Solas,” said Cole, sliding into shadow to reach the demon.  
Cassandra turned to him. “Are you ready?” she asked, bouncing from one foot to the other. He took a deep breath and his barrier floated up around her.  
“Go,” he said. He began casting.  
“Shit,” swore Varric at his shoulder. “There’s more. One of those floating hag things.”  
Solas glanced over and saw a despair demon closing in on Cassandra. “I’ll take care of it. Stay on target.” The stone walls stuttered around him as he fade-stepped toward the demon. Inquisition forces were pouring onto the battlements from the ladders they’d cleared and raced to help. A ball of flame ripped from him and hurtled toward the demon, splashing on its tattered rags, a shriek exploding from it.  
“Solas! Look out!”  
He flinched at the urgency in Varric’s voice and was narrowly missed by the frigid ice of another despair demon he had not seen. He moved faster now, knowing the others would be unable to help him until the hulking pride demon fell. He stepped aside as another splash of ice spread in feathering crystals at his feet and slammed his staff down with a pulse that pushed both demons back. He gathered another ball of fire but it flew wide as one of the demon’s spells hit his barrier and surprised him. He took a deep breath, pushed his worry for the others from his head. Stopped casting. Watched. Moved. The sounds of clanking metal and thunk of Varric’s bolts faded. His own pulse slowed until he was certain there was a pause in it all.

The room had been utterly silent as he shifted her shirt lower exposing the plane of her shoulder blade. She had held her breath as he hesitated, the cool morning air brushing her skin in the absence of his hand. It hadn’t been too late, not then. He could have turned back, could have made it an easy, laughing thing. But the next— the next was a promise. And he knew it. As did she. Her fingers tightened around his. A warning, a way out. He had been so careful. He’d not made a single oath, not offered anything he was not sure of. But this— it was as much a promise to himself as it was to her. That he would not turn back, that he would never pretend what they had was without weight. That if he could find no way to stay, then he would at least return to her, in the end. That he would tell her the truth. That he would start to dismantle the myth he’d encouraged. That he’d begin in that moment and not some hazy someday. She started to turn toward him again, feeling the moment slip. He blew a warm breath over her shoulder blade and she stopped. “Solas—”

Someone was calling to him, but it was distant. He was absorbed in the rhythm of the fight. One of the demons paused to whirl away and he blasted it before it could slip past him. The other’s spell hit him squarely in the chest, a calculated loss. He released another jet of flame before slumping to his knees and gasping, the ice in his lungs scraping and biting. He coughed and felt the crackle of the ice breaking. His exhale sparkled, and then Vivienne was in front of him, speaking sternly, pressing warm healing into him. There was blood on her robe. “Are you injured?” he wheezed.  
Vivienne looked confused. “What? I know you’re injured, it will be past in a moment.”  
“Thank you,” he said, sucking in a deep breath, “I am much better. You are bleeding. Let me help.”  
Vivienne looked down at herself and laughed. “Oh, my dear, it’s not _mine_. Everyone is well.” She held out an arm to help him up. He took it and rose.  
“Thank you, again,” he said, and looked around himself. The battle had moved off the ramparts as the Inquisition forces streamed up and over as well as through the main gate now. The Wardens had to know they were overrun.

“Such a waste,” said Vivienne, staring down at the dead. “You see what happens without constraints, Solas? First the rebel mages, now the Wardens. Has this shown you, yet, why the Circle is a necessity? Not just for the safety of non-mages, but for our own as well. These are the things that happen without it.”  
He was too saddened to be angry. “No, Vivienne, these are the things that happen _because_ of the Circle. Centuries of increasing pressure will eventually cause anything to collapse. This is just the end result.” He sighed. “But there are enough battles to be fought today, let us not add to them. Thank you for your aid, Enchanter.”  
She tipped her head toward him and fell silent.  
“Is the other group…”  
Vivienne pointed down the walkway to where the Inquisitor was speaking to Hawke. “All whole. Though Dorian is a bit worse for wear.” She pulled a flask of lyrium from her belt and began walking towards them.

A promise then, and a truth. “Vhenan, I allowed you to believe something that was untrue.” He hovered an inch from her skin, breathing the words into her. She caressed the arm he had wrapped around her, waiting for what he would say. “I have not come from Tevinter.”  
“But your story—” she said gently.  
“I am an escaped slave, yes, but I was never the Imperium’s.”  
She was silent for a long moment. “It was foolish of me to assume. Please, do not be offended. The truth matters, I will not pretend that it does not. But whether you were from Tevinter or Ferelden or Par Vollen, it does not change how I feel. Ar lath ma, Solas.”  
He pressed his lips to her back just as the last of his name faded from the air. A shocked breath and the tightening of her hand in his. He thought that would be all the reaction he would get. It was enough. Better than enough. That small gasp would keep him dreaming for weeks. But then she spoke and the way her voice wavered lit him ablaze. “Emma lath, be warned,” she said, “ _that_ is a dangerous sp—” She sighed as he kissed her shoulder blade again, lingering and soft.  
“They are _all_ dangerous spots. Every one. Every inch of you is terrible and beautiful. But this one, this one is what I sought.” He loosened his hold on her so that she could turn to face him. “I win,” he smiled.  
She laughed. “Don’t look so smug,” she warned, tracing his grin with her finger. “Now it’s my turn.”  
He shook his head and straightened her shirt. “Next time, Vhenan. Commander Cullen awaits.”  
“Fenedhis!” She sat up with a sigh, then changed her mind and sank down, pressing a deep kiss into him. “This is only round one. My revenge will be very, very sweet.”

The Inquisitor cried out beside him as Commander Clarel slid a knife along the throat of a companion. The gout of blood joined a large dried stain on Adamant’s stone. Erimond heard the Inquisitor and turned toward them. He ordered the remaining Wardens to attack, but they hesitated.  
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “You think this is the answer— that you can stop the Blight by killing each other?”  
“We do as we must. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them,” shouted Clarel.  
“But this bargain you made— Erimond does not intend to honor your sacrifices,” answered the Inquisitor.  
“Corypheus is binding the Warden mages to him,” said Stroud. “You know it to be true, you’ve already noticed their strange behavior.”  
Clarel shook her head. “I don’t know who filled your minds with such fears, but Corypheus is dead.” She hesitated a moment and then sighed. “Bring it through.”  
The mages opened a rift and the Inquisitor sucked in a hissing breath. Solas reached for her hand, pouring cool healing magic into it, though he knew it did not help. The Wardens began closing in as Hawke and Stroud continued to plead for them to stop. He could see his friends tensing, slipping into fighting stances, readying themselves.  
“Don’t you see?” cried the Inquisitor, “We’re meant to be on the same side. I do not want to fight you. We need you and people like you. We are all trying to save the world that we love. I understand why you made this bargain, Clarel, I do. And though we may not agree, I would not stand against you unless I was certain you were being tricked into something you did not intend.”  
The remaining Wardens hesitated. Clarel took a step back, saying something to Erimond. Solas held his breath. A snarl caught in the Venatori’s face.

“Oh no,” breathed Cole. “It’s here. Death and not-death, ruin and ash and oh the snow, where is the snow to bury it, to hide it away now?”  
“What’s wrong Cole?” asked the Inquisitor. Erimond smashed the butt of his staff against the stone and a cry shook the air.  
“Shit,” breathed Iron Bull and the tattered wings of Corypheus’s dragon rose over the edge of the fortress wall.  
“Blackwall, Cassandra, get them to cover,” shouted the Inquisitor and gave him a shove toward the others.  
The dragon hovered and then dove at them. Solas reached for her and then fade-stepped. “No. I’m not leaving without you,” he said as they emerged. “We can stand here and argue until we’re cinder or we can work together.”  
“Void take your stubbornness,” she said, but kept hold of his hand as they ran. The dragon landed on the nearby tower, looking for them, it’s great head twisting as it searched. Clarel shouted an order to the Wardens and then blasted the beast with a spell. It took off, chasing her down the battlement. But the rift was spawning enemies and they had no time to interfere.

The Inquisitor turned to face a large pride demon that blocked the rift. “There’s no time,” shouted Cole, “Commander Clarel is in trouble, we have to help her.”  
The pride demon laughed, deep and guttural, its whip snaking through the air.  
“Go Cole! Take Dorian and Bull.” She snapped a barrier up and stared at the demon. “I hope you weren’t a friend,” she said.  
“It wasn’t,” said Solas flatly. He did not offer more, but began casting. Sera was back to shouting, feeling far more sure of herself against a demon than she had against the Wardens. Vivienne was sucking down a lyrium potion with one hand and continuing to cast with another. The demon was fixated on the Inquisitor and she sprinted and dodged, managing only a few bursts of magic as she moved. She was flagging by the time Cullen’s voice surged up the stairs behind them and the Inquisition’s main forces rushed to aid her. At last it was down and she raised her hand to close the rift as Cullen led the soldiers after Clarel.  
“Watch out, Buckles!” yelled Sera and Solas glanced where she was pointing. The dragon was back, it’s great maw widening and the glow in it’s throat already bursting forward as he dashed to the Inquisitor and took them sideways with a grunt. The heat of the dragon fire seared the side of his face for less than a second and they were gone.  
Her hand shook against his reddened skin. “It’s alright,” he said as she tried to heal it, “no time, I’m well.” He glanced back at the rift which glowed in the raging flames the dragon had made. “It’s no good, we have to leave it, close it afterwards. We have to stop Erimond.”  
She nodded and they ran after Vivienne and Sera. The soldiers were fighting more of the possessed mages. “Keep going,” shouted Cullen, giving Solas a shove as he stopped to help. “We can handle this. Get to Clarel.”  
More spots of dragonfire and the battle had stopped being silent. He could pick out Iron Bull roaring and Cassandra giving orders amid the chaos. _Focus_ , he told himself, but he did not mean on the fighting.

Her voice, the ripple of her skin, the cool breathless stillness of morning. “Ar lath ma, Solas.” Peace. All he wanted was the peace of that moment to erode the panic and sorrow of this one. There was spatter mixed with the sweat on her face. It mottled the vallaslin, stiffened the fabric of her robes and clumped in her hair. Infected her. She was frightened, it vibrated off her. He wanted to give that moment back to her, the brush of his lips against her, the sound of his laugh in her ears.

The dragon’s head smashed through a railing and blasted fire at them, flying back with a cry when it missed. Vivienne’s ice crept over the dragonflame, popping and sizzling until it was out and they raced on until they reached Hawke and Stroud who hovered, watching. Clarel had cornered Erimond. It was not much of a match. For all the Venatori’s bluster, he was almost helpless as she struck him. But then the dragon swooped in and grabbed Clarel, shaking her between its massive teeth before hurling her down in front of the Inquisitor. Clarel tried to rise. “She’s alive!” cried the Inquisitor and started forward to help. But the dragon was not finished with its prey. Solas grabbed her as it landed and the battlement shook. He pulled her backwards as it advanced on Clarel. The dying Warden rolled over to face the massive beast. A desperate surge of power burst from her and slammed into the dragon. It screamed and toppled, tumbling over them and off the end of the rampart. But the sudden, erratic weight was too much for the ancient bridge and it began to crumble away, huge stones sloughing away beneath them as they scrambled for solid ground.

“Help!” cried Hawke and the Inquisitor ran back a few steps to haul her up. He thought they were going to make it as he hurried to help. Hawke was up and running. But then the Inquisitor slipped and that same shocked gasp was her only sound as she fell. He leapt after her, reaching, stretching to touch her. He had enough time to catch her fingers and slam into her as they plummeted. Her mark flashed and he was blind, reduced to her frightened cry in his ears and the arm clutching his back hard enough to hurt. He had time to whisper that he loved her, uncertain if she could hear, but needing to say it nevertheless. And then it was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two again, but very long ones. I may be slow with the next bits or do smaller chunks for a while, I have a novel deadline approaching, but I haven't abandoned it!


	45. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHRNSeuvzlM&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=30

His eyes readjusted as their momentum slowed and then reversed with a yank. They hovered for a second above the ground. She was wrapped around him, tight against him, her cry faded into silent shaking. And then they fell and she groaned. He rolled off her and helped her sit. She clutched her arm.

  
“What happened?” said Stroud. Solas looked up and noticed the Warden was hanging from a stone upside down, as if he were a bat.  
“We were falling,” said Hawke. She too, was standing at an impossible angle. “Are we— are we dead?”  
Solas looked around at the jumbled, nonsensical space around them.

“If we’re dead, why does everything still hurt?” The Inquisitor was grinding her teeth as she clutched her arm. “It isn’t supposed to hurt after you are dead.”  
“We aren’t dead, Vhenan,” he said, rolling her sleeve to see how far the mark had spread and pressing their palms together to offer her whatever benefit a healing spell could give her. “We’re in the Fade. You opened another rift, do you remember? We’ve passed through and survived. We’re _alive_ , my love.”  
She stared at her hand. And he stroked her hair as he looked around.

“I never thought I’d find myself here physically.” _Not in this world. Not before the Veil was destroyed_. He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Look, my love, the Black City is almost close enough to touch.”  
She lost herself for a moment, watching it. “It will not be safe, this time, will it?” she murmured, too softly for the others to hear. He shook his head.  
“This is— this is unfamiliar. The Fade is reacting to us— much more than I’ve ever seen it do before,” Vivienne’s voice was smooth, but her face was uneasy.  
“Yes,” said Solas, “It shifts to meet our expectation, our emotions, our desires.”  
“You have been here, Inquisitor,” said Stroud, “or so they say. Was it like this?”  
“I’m afraid I don’t remember,” she said, rising from the ground.  
“No matter,” said Hawke, “whatever we’ve seen here in the past, we can’t assume it will be the same now. That pride demon came from nearby, I’m certain it wasn’t the only one waiting in the wings.”

A stream of intensifying curses came from Sera and she paced. Solas put a hand on her shoulder. “Lethallan, Sera, all will be well.”  
“Bullshit!”  
“ _Listen_. This once. It will help, I give you my word.”  
Sera wrapped her arms around herself and blew out a breath, her eyes filling with tears. “It isn’t real,” she snapped.  
“Then it can’t hurt you,” he said simply.  
“What? That’s it?”  
“The Fade will rise or fall to meet your expectations. Expect something terrible and it will find you. Focus on peace or happiness and that will find you instead.”  
“Easy for you.”  
“No, Sera, it is not. But— _try_. Think of something you love. The sunshine through your windows in Skyhold. Strawberry jam. Breechless guards.”  
She smiled and elbowed him. “Yeah. Okay. Don’t think it will work, though.”  
“If it doesn’t, what have you lost? A few bad thoughts, that’s all.”  
“Good point.” She wiped her nose.

“Inquisitor,” said Stroud as she helped him down from his perch, “did you close the other rift? The one that Erimond opened?”  
“No, we had no time.”  
“It should be close then. Perhaps we can return that way.”  
“Let’s get out of here, Buckles,” said Sera.  
The Inquisitor nodded and they headed in what they hoped was the right direction. Fetid water and fragments of stone and memory littered the landscape. There was no sky, no edge. Solas watched Sera sweating and gripping her bow. He tried to pull the Fade into something kinder, something more familiar to her. But it wouldn’t budge with a casual wish. He was having to expend more energy than normal even to make small changes.

“Fascinating,” he muttered. “Is it changed so much?”  
“What?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“I thought I would attempt to make us just a little more comfortable— but the Fade resists my influence. I don’t know if it is because we are here physically or for some other reason.”  
“What other reason could it be?”  
“Well, given that Erimond knew to find the spirits he was looking for here and the atmosphere, I think we might be in a part of the Fade that is controlled by something.”  
“Something, Solas? You mean a demon. Let’s not linger, Inquisitor. We are in their territory now, my dear.”  
Solas fought to swallow his frustration and let them continue in silence. The Inquisitor sensed it though, or was still shaken, because she found his hand with hers.  
“Some things can be both perilous and beautiful, Solas. It does not make either of you wrong,” she said quietly.  
“I know, Vhenan. And this is not necessarily an area I would normally choose to explore, but this isn’t an opportunity that comes along every day. I will not close my eyes and fumble through it to avoid seeing.”

Hawke began drawing her sword. “Who is that?” she asked pointing to the top of a stone stair. They walked toward the lone figure of a woman. Divine Justinia glowed in her robes of white and gold. Stroud fell back a step as he recognized her.  
“How is this possible?” he gasped.  
Justinia smiled. “I greet you Warden.” She turned to Hawke, “And you, Champion.”  
Vivienne made a deep curtsy and Sera turned bright red and clutched her head. The Inquisitor stepped forward, reaching toward the woman. “It’s _you_. You saved me. But then— how are you here?”  
“She can’t be,” said Stroud. “She must be a spirit. Or something worse.”  
Justinia’s smile didn’t falter. “You think it is impossible that I survived, but you, yourselves, are proof that it is not as improbable as you think. But we do not have time to debate my existence. I only wish to help. I know you do not remember what happened at the temple, Inquisitor. Someone has stolen those memories.”  
“Who? And why? Why would someone want those memories?”  
Justinia was grim now, her hand reaching out to touch the Inquisitor’s. “It is a demon, one that is bound to Corypheus. It feeds upon fear. It creates terror and then feasts. It is the being responsible for the false Calling that led the Gray Wardens to their doom.”  
Stroud scowled. “I would gladly end this demon for what it has done.”  
The Divine turned to him, but her look was sad. “You will have your chance.”  
“How does he keep winning them? Everywhere I turn, Corypheus has convinced someone to betray us and themselves. Mages and Templars and Wardens and now spirits— must I fight all of Thedas alone?” The Inquisitor was whispering but Justinia heard and her smile appeared again.  
“I do not know how Corypheus finds our weaknesses, but he forgets we, too, have strengths. And you are not alone, Inquisitor. But for now, you must escape the Fade, because the demon here would grow fat on you for years while Thedas burned under Corypheus. You must flee this place.”  
“But how?”  
“You must recover your memories. You must leave whole. They are here and they will help you in the days to come.”  
“Somehow I doubt it’s going to be that easy.” The Inquisitor sighed and trudged past Justinia.

A few wisps turned as they passed and globes of veilfire were scattered over the ground. “Look, Solas. Is this— are these _mine_?”  
He crouched beside one. “There is only one way to tell. But it should be you that does it, for privacy. I—” he laughed, delighted and hopeful, “I do not know what will happen here next. This is unlike my usual experiences.” He had not been in the Fade like this for a thousand years. He thought he’d remember something like that, but it was so much richer, so much fuller than his memory. She smiled at him fondly, then reached out to touch one of the fiery spheres. The spirits noticed and turned hostile.  
“Don’t like that, do you?” shouted Sera, snapping her bow before leaping in with her daggers. “Nasty demon things. Let us go!”  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” said the Inquisitor as one of them hovered nearer.  
Solas didn’t hesitate. “You must fight,” he told her, “They will not let you go. We have challenged their purpose, they will not stop.” He shot a spell at the closest wisp, but she still held back, doubtful. “I do not like it either, Vhenan, but we have no choice and neither do they.”  
She nodded and began to cast. The wisps were easy to dispatch and she was kneeling to gather the veilfire within moments. He did not expect the memory to be visible to them all, but it was. He was the only one unsurprised by what it contained, having seen it already in Haven.

“It wasn’t Andraste then,” said Stroud, “but that orb Corypheus carried that gave you the mark.”  
“I never claimed it was Andraste,” snapped the Inquisitor. “I’ve tried to stop the gossip— but no one ever believes me.” She flexed her hand and walked back to Justinia. “What do you know about the anchor— this _thing_ in my hand?”  
“It is the needle that pulls the thread, as well as the key. It opens the way for you— and for others to pass through the Veil and survive.”  
“You’re saying— _I_ did this. It was me that made the Breach, that destroyed the temple, put us all at risk. This is all my fault?”  
Solas felt his chest tighten with grief at the guilt and shock in her voice. Justinia shook her head. “No, child. The Breach was not of your making. The orb Corypheus carried would have opened it even without the anchor. It was what the ritual was intended to do. But the anchor would have let him pass unharmed through the Breach. All would have been lost. Without the anchor, he must resort to other means. It is yours now. Part of you, wound into your existence.” Justinia’s gaze flicked toward him and he had a sudden cold feeling that she knew exactly what he intended. “It cannot be removed without your death.”  
Solas reeled a step backward. Wisdom had told him that he could remove it with the focus, that they could get it back and— and what? The spirit hadn’t been able to get that far before they were interrupted.  
“Shit,” breathed Sera beside him.

The Inquisitor stared down at the emerald mark and then turned to them. She offered him a weak smile and a shrug. “Everything ends. I already knew that.” She looked around, surveying the landscape. “At least I had the tour first.” She turned to Justinia with a nervous laugh. “And I know someone in the neighborhood.”  
“You are not meant to die today, Inquisitor,” said Justinia, her tone hardened somewhat. “Thedas still needs you. And you must hurry. You’ve recovered part of your memories, but the Nightmare knows you are here now. And it wants you. I will prepare the way.”

The Inquisitor shuddered and Solas placed a warm hand on her back to soothe her. It was all he could think to do, his mind still slow with shock and a growing dread.  
Hawke and Stroud bickered behind him about the Grey Wardens, but Solas was too depressed to care. _This should not have happened this way, he thought, following her numbly farther in. She should be speaking with spirits, tasting the magic in the air, delighting in the beautiful memories that lingered in the Fade. Wisdom should be here. This should not hurt so much. This should not cost her life._

They came upon a small desk, lit with an unwavering candle. It grew from the stone, paper scattered across it as if the owner had just walked away a moment. She stopped to pick up a page.  
“Oh no, Buckles,” said Sera, “You heard Vivienne. Leave the spirit junk alone. We’re on their turf. Maybe they don’t like our paws touching stuff. Just— just leave it. Let’s go.”  
“But it might help—”  
“A dagger to the demon’s nasty face is all that’s going to help. Come on, before something creepy happens.” Sera looked around. “ _More_ creepy.”  
“Yes, my dear, I think Sera has it right. We do not belong here and the more swiftly we can get through it, the safer we will be.”

She hesitated, the page caught in her hand as it hovered over the table. Sera rolled her eyes and jabbed a finger into Solas’s shoulder. “ _Your_ fault. Going on and on about the wonders of the Fade. The glories of the beyond. ‘Ooo you’ll never believe what I saw. The elves were all gorgeous and served by gryphons but you can only see it in the Faaaaddddee. It’s nothing but fun and sunshine, Lavellan, but only I can take you there.’ That’s you. Crammed up her head with all that rubbish. Get it out. Fix it. Or I’ll— I’ll do something to your paints and brushes when you aren’t looking.”  
He wanted to be irritated or insulted but the Inquisitor was laughing. Here. In the darkest part of the Fade. When she’d been told she’d bear the mark until her death, that she’d never be free. When she knew they were marching to face an ancient terror that held sway over hundreds of Wardens. She was laughing. He couldn’t even be offended.  
“In my defense,” he said, instead, “I _do_ know all the best spots for sunshine. And there is quite a waiting list for gryphon servants. However, this is not a pleasant place. And there are others who are no doubt worried for us. We cannot let them wait, even to explore something as fascinating as the Fade.” He cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m sorry, that wasn’t quite the right inflection. The Faaaadddddee.”  
Sera snickered. “Boffin,” she muttered.

It had the desired effect. The Inquisitor moved on, but without the growing dread that had been in her face before. At least— until the demon started speaking to them. They had reached a place of still, dark water. Sera had been reluctant to cross it and the Inquisitor was trying to coax her from the edge.  
“It’s only up to my ankles. Just a little water, Sera. The stairs are right there.” She held out her hand as Solas and the others passed them.  
“But it’s dark. I can’t see the bottom. Could be _things_ in there. Spidery, crawly things with lots of legs.”  
“There isn’t. Look, the others are fine, I’m fine, nothing but rock and water.”  
Sera inched forward. And that’s when they heard it.

“Ah, we have visitors.” The voice came from above, below, around— Solas had the unsettling sensation that it might even have come from within his own chest, spoken with his lungs and his tongue. But it sounded like Corypheus. Sera shrieked and the water erupted as several ash demons burst from the surface.  
“Told you, told you,” cried Sera, backing up and fumbling for her bow.  
He tried to reach them quickly, but the Fade would not fold and he pushed through the water which seemed to thicken with each step.  
“What is this?” cried Stroud.  
“The demon. It uses our fear against us. Push it aside. Focus on the task.” He gritted his teeth and shoved his feet through the water casting as he went.  
“Who is this silly little girl coming to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders? Inquisitor, you should have thanked me and let it lay forgotten. You will not profit from it, you know this. The true weight of it would cripple you. You are practically paralyzed as it is. But you are a guest and it would not do to be rude. By all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”  
She cried out and he saw her collapse into the black water on her hands and knees, the demons bearing down upon her. Sera was trying desperately to keep them from closing in, leaping at last into the pool beside her. She switched to her daggers and they flashed like darting fish.

Solas strained to reach them but it was no good. The landscape, at least, resisted. But he was home, in his native element. His powers were fully restored, at least until the connection severed again. Hawke was banging on her shield trying to get the attention of the ash demons and Vivienne’s spells whirled across the water, but it was not enough. There were too many. Sera and the Inquisitor would be dead before he could make it through the muck to help or whittle them down to manageable levels. _It’s no good. Hide it longer, and you will lose her. Her, and any chance at saving any of them._ He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and shattered the air around her. The shockwave thinned the water and knocked the others over and the demons dissolved. He ran to the Inquisitor and Sera, checking them both for injuries. Above him ( _Inside?_ ) the nightmare laughed. “Mar nin ea shem, harellan. As ea fanor.” He ignored it.

“Come on, Sera, up you go.” He half knelt in the water and she climbed onto his back. Her hands were still shaking. He slogged forward toward the other side.  
“Shut up, you!” she shouted toward the sky. “Coming to kill you in the face.”  
The laugh came again. “Sera, Sera, Sera. Shoot an arrow at me and I’ll know where you are.”  
Her hands tightened around his neck. “Out of my head bitch balls,” she cried.  
“All will be well,” he tried to soothe her. “It claims a power it does not have. Do not listen. Remember your friends. They will not let you fall, Sera. They will not let it touch you.” He set her down upon the stairs.  
“Th— thanks, Droopy,” she stammered.

Vivienne backed away from him and Stroud and Hawke just stared. He sighed, but offered no explanation. The Inquisitor touched his hand and he turned toward her, uncertain he was ready for her questions. She pressed her palm to his cheek. “Are you alright? Did that— did it hurt you?”  
“I am well, emma lath, and glad to see that you are too.”  
She withdrew to fumble with her belt. “Do you need a potion?” she asked, holding up a flask.  
He smiled. “No— it is different here. This is where all of our magic comes from. Can you feel it? There is no end to the energy here. It is only outside— in the waking world, we must wait for drips of magic to leak through. It’s like— it’s like plunging into the sea after wandering the desert for your entire life.”  
He ached for her to see. Of them all, he most wanted _her_ to understand this place.

“But what is the price?” murmured Vivienne. “Such power cannot come freely. And if it is so readily available, why can we not force our way out of this place?”  
He shrugged. “Perhaps we could, if we attempted to. But that would leave the nightmare demon to feast freely and grow. And the Inquisitor would not have what she needed. This is a gift, Enchanter. It may not be a pretty one, but it is— eminently useful.”  
“Such gifts are never free,” scowled Hawke.  
“No,” said the Inquisitor, “but we will pay for it whether we choose to use it or ignore it. It is already being extracted. Let us move on, before we lose something else. Or— _gain_ something else.”

He stuck close, absently rubbing her mark with his thumb as they walked. “Wisdom told me we could remove it,” he said quietly as the others spread out. “It said there was a way.”  
“Maybe Justinia— or whatever is pretending to be her, is wrong. Maybe it’s lying. To shake us.” She closed her fingers around his. “We’ll figure it out. Besides, even if we can’t take it out doesn’t mean we can’t halt its spread. Perhaps it will stop, go dormant, once Corypheus is stopped. Do not fall into sadness. Not here, emma lath. Fear and despair— they will defeat even the strongest heart.”

  
Vivienne cried out ahead and they both looked up. Solas was horrified to see they had reached a tight passage encrusted with sharp spines of red lyrium. He gripped his head as he heard it begin to sing.  
“Solas, what’s wrong?” The Inquisitor turned toward him as he stumbled backward. A crackling smash burst the air as the ground in front of him erupted and cracked and a blight-ridden elf climbed out of the fissure. His eyes were filmed and blank and crystal nodules pushed through his weeping skin. Another followed, and another. They turned their dead eyes on Solas and began walking toward him. He grabbed the Inquisitor and slid in front of her. “Don’t let them touch you, Vhenan. Run!”  
“What?”  
“As din. Ar’an din.” The elf’s voice slithered and warped, felt like a clawed thing in his ear. “Ma dala em’an. Ma dala as.”  
“Tel’dala, lethallan,” he cried, holding his hands before him as if they could hold off what he’d done. The ends of his fingers were black with blood. The blood began to glow and sparkle. Red lyrium snaked from the blood spots, spidering along his skin. “Ir abelas!”  
The elves did not stop. They reached for him, wanted to pull him back into the infected ground, encase him in crystal, force him into tortured endless dreams, just as he had done to the others.  
There was shouting and the clash of metal, part of him knew the others were fighting, but it was distant, detached. The lyrium had reached his shoulders and he could feel it itching and stabbing toward his chest. And then there was a deep crack of thunder. It shook him, shook the ground beneath him as the air in front of him ignited in pure white fire. Jagged haloes that jittered and crackled. It was her lightning. Far more than he had ever seen from her. The elves, the crystals, the lyrium that infected his skin, all gone. His hands clean, the passage a dull smooth gray stone. The Inquisitor was staring at her hands in shock.

“Don’t _do_ that!” shouted Sera. “Solas is scary enough. Don’t you start too.”  
“But I had to— those things would have killed us,” she protested. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten anyone.”  
“What were those things?” asked Hawke.  
“Little fears. Spawned from the Nightmare. They feed on the scraps it leaves behind,” he said, passing a shaking hand over his face.  
“Little? Solas, that didn’t seem to be little,” said the Inquisitor, gently pulling his hand down in order to see him.  
“Compared to the demon that calls this place home, I’m afraid those were nothing, insignificant. The fears we pass through every day.”  
Hawke laughed and it was bitter. “This day just keeps on giving, doesn’t it? Any more good news you wish to share, Solas?”  
He shook his head. “I have told you all that I know. If I discover something that can help us, I will tell you.”  
Sera shuddered. “Can’t stand creepy spiders. All those legs.”  
“You saw spiders?” asked Stroud. “Hurlocks for me.”  
Solas sucked in a relieved breath. So they hadn’t seen then. “Yes,” he said, “The Fade draws on each person’s experience. It reflected what was frightening to us.”  
“Then it is already defeated,” said Vivienne, her lips thinning to a sharp, determined line. “Together we may battle each other’s fears. Cover the gaps. Expose it for the whimpering, powerless thing it really is. This is all illusion, it will only defeat us if we forget that. If we are alone.”

The demon laughed again, filling the sky with its mirth. “Oh, but you _are_ alone, Enchanter. What is it like living as an apostate, Vivienne? The Circle is shattered, the Templars unchecked. Do you truly think you can put it back together? Regain what little power you had within it? At _your_ age?”  
Vivienne’s gaze snapped to the rest of them. He could see the rage seething under the surface, feel it shimmering off her like desert heat. “Not one word,” she told them. He was careful to keep the pity from his face. The Inquisitor simply started off again, in silence, but she gave Vivienne a deep, grave bow as she passed.

More veilfire lay scattered over the ground among wisps and ash demons. The Inquisitor was out of patience and fascinated by her newfound power. She pulsed with bright white light, rays of lightning spearing out of her, lashing enemies, tearing them asunder in one blow. He held his breath. Beautiful and perilous, indeed. The light subsided and again she stared at her own hands a minute and then at him. She felt it. She knew. She understood what this place meant. Oh, how he wanted to touch her then. How he wanted to know her in this place. With nothing to separate them, nothing to dampen it. It would not be the pale shadow that dreams made, nor the dull, blunted fumbling of the waking world. It was a deep ache, that need, like starving or suffocating.

He knelt with her near the first veilfire globe, while the others hung back, unsettled by them both. “We could stay,” he whispered, though he knew they could not. “Here. I could bring you to a safe place. We could wander the deepest parts, find new places together.” He was startled to feel his eyes brim with tears.  
She reached over the veilfire, placing a warm hand in the center of his chest. “We cannot, my love.” It was sad, mournful. “There are others who need us. We cannot abandon them.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and then gave him a pale smile. “But the mark is not going anywhere. When this is over, when we can find a safe way and a nicer place—”  
He laughed softly.  
“I will bring us back, someday, Solas. I will run away with you then. And we will follow the lights to the very edge of it all.”

She looked back down at the memory and touched it. He could see her running, reaching, her feet slipping on the steep stairs of the ziggurat and Justinia reaching down, pulling her from the clutches of a horde to fear demons. The Divine was ripped away, shouting for the Inquisitor to run. And she did.  
“You— _died_ ,” said Vivienne staring at the figure of Justinia. “You aren’t her at all.”  
The Inquisitor stood up, walking slowly toward her. “You don’t need to hide,” she said. “Are you her spirit? Her intent? A stray memory of her?”  
The spirit let its illusion slide away. “I am. That is all. And I wished to help. As she did.”  
“You do not know what you are, do you?” asked the Inquisitor gently.  
“It hardly matters,” spat Hawke. “The real Justinia is dead. That is what caused all of this. And the Gray Wardens are the ones that killed her.”  
“They were being controlled by Corypheus and this Nightmare. You cannot condemn the entire order because of a few—” started Stroud.  
“A few?” shouted Hawke, “Did you not see the army in Adamant? Your order is ripped apart, riddled with abominations. In a foolish attempt—”  
“How dare you? You destroyed an entire city, plunged all of Thedas into civil war—”  
“To _protect_ innocent people. You cannot blame this all on Corypheus. Those Wardens made a choice of their own free will. A terrible choice. They go too far and have no one to rein them in.”  
“Agreed,” said Solas firmly. “The Wardens once served a greater good. But they are far too dangerous now.”  
“They are a relic. The world does not need them any longer. Let them dissolve and go back to peaceful lives,” said Vivienne.  
“And if there is a Blight?” asked the Inquisitor, “What then?”  
“You can’t just get rid of them,” said Sera, “I mean, it’s never good when they show, but they’re supposed to be heroes. I don’t want to save the world from _everything_ , Buckles. Didn’t sign up for that. Just the green glowy bits.”  
The Inquisitor crossed her arms with a sigh. “I guess we needn’t worry about it until we are out of here. We could solve every problem the world has, but it won’t do much good if we don’t live to tell somebody about it.”  
“You are right, of course,” said Hawke. “We will discuss it back at the fortress.”

The spirit that had worn Justinia’s face started. “The Nightmare has found you!” it cried and disappeared.  
More dead elves burst from the ground and he saw the others pale. “Whatever it is you see,” she told him. “They cannot stand against us.”  
“I know, Vhenan. They have power over me no longer. The demon must try something else if it wants to feed on me.” The elves froze and shattered under his spell. “Come,” he said, “whatever the Divine actually is, she is the key to escaping this place. We must find her.”  
The Nightmare was getting frantic. It began throwing more and more in their way. But the Inquisitor had discovered her power, and he had long known his. The others might be frightened of it, but it wouldn’t stop him from using it. Others had been frightened of him before.  
“Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din.” The Nightmare focused on him now, and he had the uncomfortable feeling of its voice speaking through him again. He pushed it aside. Looked at the Inquisitor. Remembered her passion, her strength. Remembered the shock he had felt when he realized he’d been wrong about her. Remembered her love.  
He smiled. “Banal nadas,” he said, and fear did not slow him.

It was a hard, bloody push, but the Nightmare overplayed. There was only so much fear that people could experience before they started to become numb to it. By the time they reached the graveyard, most of them were just fatigued. Even Sera had felt her anger overtake her terror and he could see she just wanted it all over by then.  
“Why are people buried here? How is that possible?” asked Hawke.  
“It’s not,” said Solas, “it is only an illusion, meant to intimidate. I suggest we ignore it.”  
“But I see names,” said Stroud, “Yours. Mine— what is—” He broke off, rubbing the moss from one of the stones.  
“Oh!” cried the Inquisitor as the inscription lit up, blazing and bright. She turned away. “This is private. I would not intrude like that. This is not for our eyes.”  
He felt a wave of gratitude for that, though he thought his own unsurprising and not particularly illuminating. They turned away.  
“We’ve got better things to do,” said Sera, “like finishing that piss-face demon. I want to go home.”  
“Me too, Sera,” she replied.

They trudged on, almost absently pushing through the monsters flung at them, inching ever closer to the glowing Divine as she opened the way. Until they came upon the Nightmare itself. It gave even Solas pause.  
“This will not be a simple thing, my love,” he said. “Not even here. It is ancient. It has had time to grow in power.”  
It was bloated and heavy, hovering over them with a thousand eyes. The spirit that claimed to be Justinia surged and he shielded his eyes from the brightness. When it faded, the monstrous beast was gone, replaced with a thing of bone and stretched sinew, a thing that wore an eternal malicious grin and spoke with Corypheus’s voice. _Or was it the Nightmare’s? His own?_ Solas shook himself. It hardly mattered. It was a piece of the Nightmare, some dark gift left behind while it dealt with Justinia.

“Now!” cried Stroud, “It is our only chance.”  
The thing laughed. “You will die in agony,” it promised.  
“Maybe, but not today,” muttered the Inquisitor, twisting her staff. The power she was pouring through it might have made him dizzy if he hadn’t been doing the same. But the Nightmare matched them. Stroud and Hawke pinned it, raking and slashing, the sound of their metal swords scraping along the bare bones of the Nightmare made his teeth ache. He glanced back to check on Sera and was startled to see tears streaming down her face as she spent arrow after arrow, each splintering the bones a little more, chipping it away.

“You have to let it in, Sera. You have to use it,” he shouted.  
“Bollocks!” she sobbed, “It’s not real. None of it. Just a shitty dream.”  
“Then what harm is there in bending it to your will?”  
“Aarrggh!” she screamed.  
He stopped casting and turned to her. “Sera,” he said sternly. She looked over at him. “ _Trust_ me. Or if you cannot, trust the Inquisitor. I would not let you lose yourself.”  
She took a deep, shaky breath and her bowstring began to glow. Soft at first and then brighter, and she was shooting, no longer loading arrows, the force of her will alone striking the creature, and it began to falter. Solas swung back, rejoining the battle. The Nightmare spun away, fleeing and sending a horde of spiders in its stead. At least, he _thought_ it was really spiders this time. They waded through them, chasing their quarry.

“Vivienne,” he called, taking advantage of the small breather, “You too. You must connect more fully to the Fade.”  
“That is the worst advice I’ve ever heard, apostate.”  
“You are only hurting yourself. There is more power here than you have ever experienced in the waking world. We must use it to escape.”  
“Keep silent, abomination,” she snapped and he could see he was pushing at the edge of something deep, something very angry. She would not forgive him for this. The Nightmare was back and he had no time to try another tactic. The dazzle of spark and metal and ice crystals made it hard for him to gauge if they were having an effect. He kept expecting the thing to buckle, to flee or fall, but it did not, taunting them, lashing out at them.  
“Vivienne, we _need_ you,” he begged.  
“I will never join you, Solas. I will never be so foolish. My mind is my own, I will not open it to corruption.”  
“I’m sure that will be a consolation as we all die. As everyone you love succumbs to Corypheus because we are not there to stop him,” he spat.  
“Vivienne,” called the Inquisitor, “You are brave. And powerful. And magnificent. Do not let this thing’s lies make you forget who you are. Who you’ve always been. Whatever happens— you have _never_ been irrelevant.”  
The Inquisitor fell silent, her breath harsh and ragged near his shoulder. Hawke and Stroud were sagging, their swords swinging lower, their shields hanging looser. But then an inferno whirled past them, flickering and roaring, devouring the Nightmare. It screamed and crumpled into dry ash. Vivienne was shaking and she avoided his gaze, turning away as quickly as the demon fell.

They stopped to breath for a second, but Solas knew they had little time. “Quickly,” he said, “before the demon returns. That was only a fragment, Justinia battles the rest.”  
They raced forward but the massive demon strode forward, planting itself in front of the rift. They were out of time.  
“We need a distraction,” said Stroud.  
Hawke gripped her sword, shifting from one foot to the next, ready to race forward. “Go,” she said, “I’ll cover you.”  
Stroud shook his head. “No, you were right. The Wardens caused this, it’s only fitting a Warden must—”  
“A Warden must help them rebuild. We will need you. It was I that released Corypheus. Cutting the strength out from beneath him is something I’ve looked forward to for a long time.”  
The Inquisitor hesitated. He knew that look. “No, Vhenan. There is no time. We go, or we die here.”  
She looked at Stroud and clasped his arm with her own. “If I am able to return—”  
“Do _not_ , Inquisitor. Finish Corypheus and then— then live the life we’ve all been robbed of.” He let her go and rushed forward. Solas gripped her hand and ran forward, catching Vivienne’s arm along the way. They tumbled through the rift. He watched Sera and Hawke come through. They waited. There was no sign of Stroud.

“Close it, emma lath, or his sacrifice will come to nothing.”  
She raised her hand and the rift sucked itself in and snapped closed. The soldiers around them cheered and he watched her shoulders sag. She turned toward them. Cullen gave her his report. The dragon still lived, but had flown off. Erimond was in custody and the Wardens awaited her order. The Inquisitor sighed. She turned to address the crowd.

“Warden Stroud was a good man. And there are good men and women among you. Some of them, like him, died to give us a chance at ending Corypheus. At pushing back the Blight. Stroud believed your order was worth saving. I do too. But—” she glanced over at Hawke. “But you are still vulnerable to Corypheus and the Venatori. And the people of Thedas have too much faith in you not to follow, even if you led them into peril. I cannot allow you to stay in Orlais. Not until this is over. As much for your sake as theirs. Return to Weisshaupt. Regroup. Recover. Be ready, for Corypheus is not the last we will hear of the Blight. We need you, Gray Wardens. And I would protect you from being used if I can.” Her face was softened with sorrow. She turned to Cullen. “By order of the Inquisition, the Gray Wardens are banished from southern Thedas. Until such time as Corypheus is dead or sufficiently bound in a way that he will no longer be a danger to them.” She turned once again toward the cluster of Wardens. “And when you return, no one will be better pleased or more ready to welcome you than I.”  
She walked away and began talking to Hawke and Varric.

“We were afraid you might be stuck in there for good,” rumbled Iron Bull.  
“In truth, I was more than a little nervous myself,” he said. He shuddered at the memory of the dead elves and their malignant whispers. Iron Bull clapped a hand on his shoulder.  
“You need a drink.”  
“We _all_ need a drink,” said Cullen, overhearing.  
“And a bath,” said Dorian, flicking something from Solas’s shirt. He slung an arm over him. “Come on, this place lacks the appropriate atmosphere. And Cole’s been pacing for hours. I think he’ll drive me mad if we stay any longer.” He started to lead Solas toward the stairs.  
“But the Inquisitor—”  
“Don’t worry. Your ‘Vhenan’ needs a drink worse than you. Maybe the bath too. We won’t forget her. See? Cassandra and Blackwall are rounding up the stragglers.”  
He let Dorian lead him away from the accursed fortress and the ruinous folly that had occurred there.

Solas found her sitting against a boulder near the water. The stone was still warm from the long-sunken sun and his shoulders relaxed into it as he sat and watched her comb her wet hair. The tingling scent of ozone still clung to her, a remnant of their time in the Fade, of her power there. He stared at her and she eventually noticed, laughing and coloring as the comb flicked through her hair. “What is it? Did I miss a spot?”  
He smiled. “No. I just— I know today was very hard.”  
“Hmm.”  
“But I want to remember it. You. The way you were in the Fade. Even more than how it felt to me. I wish to remember you clearly. For a day, I was able to see the way you might have been— if we were alive before the Veil.”  
Her smile dropped away. “And now? Do I disappoint now that we are back to normal? Will I ever measure up to that again?”  
“Oh, my heart, I did not mean that _you_ had changed. Come,” he held out his arms and she slid close to him, the comb pressed against her lips as she watched him. He took it from her and slid it through her damp hair. “There was a time, not so very long ago, that I believed we were— _less_ than what we used to be. That our people had withered. Had been reduced.”  
She wrinkled her brow. “Reduced from what?”  
He wasn’t quite ready to tell her that. Not fully. “From what I had seen of Elvhenan. We used to be the way you were today. Magic was not separated, not reserved for a few nor viewed with suspicion. It was part of the air we breathed, part of our words and our art. Utterly entwined in our existence. But then— things changed. We lost it, lost that connection to the Fade. It was something we could only see in our dreams. I believed that made the elves of today inferior.” He shook his head. “Not just the elves. The humans and dwarves and qunari. I have been wrong. You have shown me how very, very wrong. And if you had not, what I saw of Vivienne and Sera today would have convinced me.”

  
He held her face in his hands. “You are as brilliant and beautiful as ever. You do not need to worry about measuring up or comparing with anyone or any imagining. It is not you that seems dull in comparison with the Fade, but the world and the Fade that would seem empty if you were not in them. You make them come alive, grow, change. My regret is only that wonder and confidence that I saw in you today, even in that dark place, I wish that I could help you keep that. I wish that I could make you feel that— and more, every day. I— it has been robbed of you, that joy and awe.”  
She wiggled her fingers with a small smile. “Apparently not. I do not want to make a trial of it just yet, not before we are finished with Corypheus. I would not want him to gain a chance to fulfill his plans. But after…” She looked up at him. “If you ask me, I will open the path for you— for us. When we can discover how to do it without risking the spirits on the other side or the people here. If that is something you wish.”  
She was offering him more than she realized. Everything. Everything he had waited to do, it sat in her palm, it was in her power to do it.  
“You would do this? Even after what you saw today?”  
“I would take care that no one would be hurt, but, yes, why not?”  
“You are not afraid of demons?”  
She smiled. “I did not say it didn’t frighten me. But I think we battled enough of them today that our names might be a rumor among them as well. Nothing is without risk.”

He leaned forward and pressed a fierce kiss into her lips. “When our work is done— when all is as it should be. When I find a way to— someday I will ask this gift of you, Vhenan.” _But not the way she expected. And not for that. Not to use her._ He could not bring himself to do it, to trick her into this terrible thing he was meant to accomplish. Not even for the sake of all the world. She watched him intensely as he pulled away. Then she closed her eyes and was still for a long moment. A pool of veilfire glittered and swirled in her hand and she leaned over the thick band of leather she had left on the stone between them. It was meant for her braid, still spattered with the paint from his fresco, worn where it had rubbed against the plaster as his wrist moved across the wall. Her letters flowed down it and she closed her hand over the remaining veilfire. She looked up at him and reached for the jagged bone that lay against his chest. Her fingers hovered over it. “May I?” she asked.  
He nodded and leaned forward and she gingerly slid the pendant from his neck. She held it carefully, reverent. He remembered the dying wolf it had come from and wondered if it had ever been shown the same care when it lived. He feared it hadn’t. Solas expected her to unthread it from the lacing, to replace the old, fraying cord with hers, but she did not. She wound it around the old cord, tying it to the bone in a new spot. Leaving the old. Strengthening it instead of tossing it aside. He could unwind it if he wished, unbind himself from her. He had no desire to. She held it up when she was done and he tilted his head again so she could replace it, giving his ear and chin a parting caress as she did.  
“What is it?” he asked.  
“Today. The Fade. The magic. Not the fear, I think. I tried to keep that out. I don’t want you to remember that part.”  
He touched it carefully, as if it would crumble away.  
“And I will be there, with you, for as long as you wish,” she said with a wavering smile.  
“It will never be removed,” he answered and pulled her into his arms.


	46. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEXQkrllGbA

The summer was bleeding away. Night was a harsh, raw thing in the desert, cold at best, other times windy and raking in addition. The Inquisition was sprawled out along the sand, dozens of large bonfires doing little to combat the chill. Solas sat near one trying to compose his report for Cassandra. Sera had given up on hers after scribbling and sniffling and then stabbing at the paper with a dagger. The Inquisitor had wrapped an arm around her at last and dragged her to dinner. He could hear Iron Bull making Sera laugh halfway across camp. Cole sat with him, fingers digging through the loose sand, the brim of his hat rippling in the brisk wind. He was unusually quiet, no questions tumbling from him, no soft observations slipping out.

  
“What troubles you, Cole?” Solas asked at last, disturbed by the lengthy silence.  
“There’s no escape,” said the boy, pushing the sand into a slumping pile. “Not for anyone. You are all bound. Twisted out of what you might be. Even you. It doesn’t matter if you help. It doesn’t matter if you’re strong or clever or small and hidden. You get caught. Get tangled together.” Cole stopped and raked his fingernails over his face. “Vivienne thinks she held it once, all the thin strings. She doesn’t know that her string was yanked and yanked. But it will never break. Blackwall— he collected others. Tricked them. Enslaved them. He fools himself, tells himself he was following orders. The _whole world_ is orders, Solas. Bad ones, hurting ones, and everyone follows.”

  
Solas pulled Cole’s hands gently down from his cheeks. He pressed healing into the deep scratches the boy’s sharp nails had left behind. “Not everyone, Cole. We are all bound, yes, but not always to evil, and not always unwillingly. Service is not slavery. Vivienne knows the cost of her power. But she wants to change things. She wants to make life better, make people safer. She thinks the cost is worth that. Blackwall recruits other Wardens because he knows how bad the Blight is. He wants to save everyone and this is the only way he knows. It is a service he loves and feels honored to perform—” he broke off as Cole shook his head. But the boy fell silent again.

Solas tried again. “Your life is one of service as well, Cole. You try to help people even when it’s difficult. You could do other things. Pursue easier goals or seek out personal joys instead. You choose not to.”  
“It makes me happy to help.”  
“I know. It is not slavery, but service. Kindness. Compassion.”  
“But someone will bind me. Sooner or later. And then they will make me hurt people.”  
“Your friends would not allow that.”  
“You could not stop it from happening to Wisdom.”  
Solas felt a stab of grief and helplessness. He was silent for a moment. Cole took up the thread again before he could think of a response.

  
“There is only one way. Someone I trust.” Cole grabbed his hand. “ _You_ could do it, Solas.”  
He hesitated, pulling his hand gently back. “Do _what_?” he asked.  
“You could bind me.”  
Solas was horrified. “No.”  
“But I wouldn’t be a slave, not really. You could do the binding and then just— forget. It would be there, but it wouldn’t mean _that_. Like the Inquisitor’s face.”  
He shuddered. “The vallaslin are not the same.”  
“But they could be. You could do it. You won’t use me— won’t make me into something I’m not. You promised.”  
Solas stood up, backing away. “How do you know I would not break it? You cannot hand your freedom over to someone—”  
“Not someone, _you_ ,” pleaded the boy.  
“It doesn’t matter who, you are your own keeper, Cole. You cannot ask this of me.”  
“But you _like_ demons.”  
“I enjoy the company of _spirits_ , yes, which is one of the reasons I do not abuse them with bindings.”  
“It isn’t abuse if I _ask_.”  
Solas shook his head. “That’s not always true, Cole.”  
“But _you_ are bound. To the Inquisitor. To your oaths. To your memories.”  
He sighed. “Those are bindings I made myself. It is in my power to dissolve them, if I wish. It would not be the same if I bound you.”

  
Cole’s hands tightened into fists by his side. It made Solas wary. He’d never seen the boy angry before.  
“I thought you were my friend.”  
“I am, Cole. And that is why I cannot do this. I will do all that I can to prevent anyone from trying to use you, but I cannot do this.”  
“If you will not, then I will ask someone else. The Inquisitor. She will do it.”  
He recoiled. The situation just kept getting worse. “She would do it, yes. Because you asked. Because she loves you. And it would hurt you both. Is that what you wish?”  
“If it will keep me from killing good people— if it will keep me from becoming like the Wardens, then— _yes_. I will ask her.”

  
He took off over the sand and Solas followed, hoping he could talk some sense into one or both of them. She was sitting with Varric at a rickety camp table, both of them bent over their work. Cole stumbled into the table, shaking it.  
“Whoa, kid, slow down,” said Varric, catching the inkwell before it could tip.  
“Are you well, Cole?” asked the Inquisitor, her quill still raised in one hand.  
“He won’t bind me,” Cole blurted out, “he likes demons, but he won’t help.”  
The Inquisitor exchanged a puzzled glance with Varric and then noticed Solas. He shook his head and frowned. She put down the quill and stood up, gently pushing Cole down into the seat where she’d been.  
“First,” she said, “You are not a demon, Cole. Second, who is trying to bind you?”  
“Not binding. He won’t. Solas won’t do it.”  
“Good,” said Varric. “Glad that’s settled. Have to say, I wasn’t too worried about that one, though.”  
“You don’t understand,” protested Cole. “He _needs_ to.”  
“Why do you want Solas to bind you?”  
“So I can be _safe_. If he won’t do it, then _you_ must, Inquisitor. Otherwise, someone else could. Like the Warden mages. And then I’d change. Not be me. Warp into Wisdom, walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster—” Cole was clutching his head again. Varric stood up to reach over the table.  
“Calm down, kid. We aren’t going to let anyone do that to you.”  
“You can’t stop it, this is the only way. Ask Solas, ask what happened to Wisdom.”

  
The Inquisitor turned toward him, but she did not ask, instead finding his hand, smoothing away the grief with her fingers. She was quiet for a long moment.  
“You can’t actually be considering this,” said Varric, turning toward her.  
She took a deep breath and let go of Solas’s hand, leaning to see Cole’s face. She took the hat from his head and laid it carefully on the table. “Cole, what if binding you did something— changed you? What if it made you into the very thing you fear?”  
“It wouldn’t— if you bound me, I wouldn’t have to hurt people. You’d never make me. I’d be able to stay and help. For good.”  
“But you can’t know that. You can’t know if I would make you hurt people or not. People change. They get desperate. They make mistakes. All you can control is your own actions. If you give that up— then you’re already bound to something. The fear is what wins.”  
“ _Please_ , Inquisitor, you cannot leave me like this.”  
She thought for a moment. “I’m not going to leave you vulnerable, Cole. But there has to be another solution, there always is. Some way we can protect you from other mages without making you a— a _pet_.”  
“We could look for an amulet of the unbound,” said Solas, “It protects spirits from both blood magic and binding, Seers in Rivain used to use them. Perhaps Josephine could help?”  
“Yes. Good. That’s good.” Cole picked up his hat, crumpling it in his hands.  
“I will send a raven ahead of us, Cole,” said the Inquisitor. She hovered beside the boy.  
“You can, if you want,” he said suddenly. “I’d like that.”  
She nodded and pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for trusting me, Cole,” she said, “I’ll prove that we’re worthy of it.”  
Solas watched intently as the boy wandered off. He was worried.

  
“Inquisitor,” said Varric, drawing Solas’s attention back, “are you certain this is such a good idea? We have no idea if Cole is really a spirit or just— confused.”  
“He _is_ a spirit, Varric,” said Solas.  
“I’m not sure, Chuckles. I think maybe he’s just a lost kid. He made up this elaborate story to deal with whatever happened to him. You said yourself that you’d never heard of anyone like him. He isn’t possessed, he isn’t magic, he’s just a kid with a knack for reading people. And encouraging this— story might hurt him. Look at how scared he is already—”  
“He appears to be a human child, Varric, but I assure you, he is not. Just because I have not encountered someone who managed to exit the Fade in the same manner doesn’t mean it isn’t as he says. I’m not encouraging a story, I’m just accepting the truth. Something maybe you should—”  
“Stop! Our friend is frightened and hurting,” said the Inquisitor. “I don’t know what Cole is. Maybe you’re right, Varric, maybe he’s just a kid. Or maybe Solas is right. It doesn’t really matter.” She lowered her voice to low murmur. “Am I right in assuming the amulet won’t affect him if he’s really human?”  
“Yes. It would just be a piece of jewelry in that case,” said Solas.  
“Then we’re going to find one. If he’s a spirit, it will protect him. If he’s not— think of it as a— a talisman. If he _believes_ it protects him, then that is enough. What does it matter if it’s the magic or ourselves that keep him safe? And if it turns out he is human, we can work on helping him accept that. Slowly.”  
“Clever,” said Varric, “very clever. But I don’t think the question of who Cole is will just die, Inquisitor.”

  
She sighed. “If I could keep my head above water long enough to see the whole picture, I might agree with you Varric. As it is, I am happy if I can just get through one crisis at a time. This whole business with the Wardens just makes me wonder how many other massive problems are right in front of me that I haven’t even noticed yet.”  
“You cannot be everywhere, Vhenan,” said Solas.  
“And it isn’t fair to ask you to be,” added Varric. “But you still make time to ease a kid’s nightmares in the middle of it all. And save my friend. And charm Orlais. You have too many ‘ands’ in your life Inquisitor. When this is over, we’re going to spend three years in the Hanged Man, you and me.”  
She laughed. “If Corypheus doesn’t kill me, then I think that might.”  
“Nah, it’s only deadly during card games and we all know you too well to let you play.”  
Solas snorted a laugh.  
“You laugh, but you can run the entire city from the Hanged Man.”  
“And I’m certain that you will, Varric. But I’m going to retire,” said the Inquisitor.  
Varric shook his head. “You’ll never retire, Herald, and we all know it.” He glanced at Solas. “Neither will you. You’re both too good at fixing shit. So’s Hawke.”  
“So are you,” said Solas gently. “We will all of us be quarreling about fixing things until the very end. It is my deepest comfort to know that.”


	47. Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkNa5xzOe5U

Early autumn followed in their wake as they returned to Skyhold. The Inquisitor lingered, pushing aside small errands for a week, hoping to find the amulet for Cole before they set off again. Solas did not mind. He appreciated the rest, the peace in keeping her close. But they were not idle. Issues had backed up, been postponed. Disputes had to be settled, supplies for winter secured, refugees housed— she had little spare time to spend with him.

He, Dorian and Morrigan were also busy, poring over old texts trying to find an alternate path into the Fade, attempting to figure out what Corypheus meant to do next. He missed her, but knowing they were both safe in his own home under protections he’d laid himself, helped him rest easy.

The argument happened in one of the rare moments they’d set aside for each other. She’d brought him to the river in the bright breezy bronze of the afternoon. The ripple and rush of the water drowned out the clamor of the fortress. They were planting the dawn lotus seeds he’d found in a still pond that pooled from the broken bank of the river. The water was cold and he’d managed to get most of his shirt soaked, but she was smiling and holding each seed he gave her as if it were a precious jewel before plunging her hand into the chilled mud to plant it. He forgot to be uncomfortable.

“Did you leave any soil for the plant, my love?” he laughed as her arms came up covered in dirt.  
“About as much as the water you left for the fish,” she said, rinsing her hands.  
“It’s getting cold, do you wish to finish the last few tomorrow? We can find a few minutes after the morning strategy meeting.” He chafed her hands between his to warm them.  
“I’m sorry, emma lath, I have to go in the morning.”  
He looked up at her. “Go?”  
“Iron Bull got a message from the Ben Hassreth. They are proposing an alliance against Corypheus and the Venatori. They need our aid in stopping a red lyrium shipment. It has to be swift and quiet. It cannot wait. Will you keep an eye on Cole? I don’t want to expose him to the Venatori until he is secure. And— Blackwall seems low since Adamant. I would take him, but Leliana recommended others this time.”  
“I— of course I will do what I can for both. Who are you taking with you?”  
“Iron Bull, Cassandra and Dorian.”  
“And the proposal, you are certain it is a real one?”  
She hesitated. “Iron Bull is certain, that is enough for me.”  
He frowned. “Perhaps Cassandra would be a better choice to stay. I could come, in case—” He broke off as she shook her head.  
“No, Solas,” she said softly.  
“I only want to be certain you are safe.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.  
“I know,” she said, “but not this time. Trust the others. Trust me.”  
“I do.”  
“Then I will say goodbye in the morning and I will send a raven every day until I return. It should be a short trip— less than a fortnight.”

“So long?” He stepped closer brushing his nose against hers. “Would it truly be so bad to have me with you?”  
She was silent, avoiding his eyes.  
“You are not telling me the real reason that Cassandra is preferable to me, Vhenan,” he said, pulling back slightly.  
“And _you_ are not telling me the real reason you insist on going.” She was no longer smiling.  
“I _am_. The Qunari are savage, bloodthirsty people. They would tear even each other apart if not for the forced conformity of the Qun. At best it is a temporary alliance that will crumble. At worst, it’s a trap. They will take any opportunity to expand, including harming you.”  
She sagged, pulling out of his reach. “This is why you cannot go, Solas. Do you remember the morning in the inn? After you showed me the Black City?”  
“Yes,” he said slowly, suddenly uncertain of himself.  
“You said that everyone could be cruel, that even love couldn’t blind you to that.” She took a deep breath and then met his gaze without flinching. “I _do_ love you. But you are cruel sometimes, Solas.”  
A small, strangled note of shock left his throat. He barely noticed.

“I’m _sorry_. I thought you would— I thought I could change your mind. Iron Bull thought he could, too. We agreed that patience and gentle prodding would perhaps be best. But I cannot stay silent any longer.”  
He drew himself up, still trying to recover, but feeling the need to protect himself from the blow she warned him was coming. “Indeed,” he said, and he knew his voice was cold, furious, but was powerless to change it. “Please, tell me how I have gone amiss. I will endeavor to remedy it.”  
Her eyes sparked with sudden tears. She extended a hand toward him, but then drew it back, cleared her throat. Seemed to gain some control. Her resolve wounded him even before she spoke. It made him realize she’d decided that something else was more important than his pain. More important to her than him.

“You are very quick to point out that you are more than an elf. ‘Not just a pair of pointy ears’ is what you said, I think. And you are right to. But you seem to have trouble accepting the same thing is true of others. I know that your feelings toward the Dalish—”  
“I-” he started to protest. She put a hand on his arm.  
“Your feelings toward the Dalish have softened. And I am glad.”  
“The Qunari are different— they mean to expand until they cover all the world!” he cried.  
She nodded. “Yes. And so does Tevinter. But you are able to separate what the Tevinter government does from the people that live under it. You do not think Dorian is a power hungry slaver mage. Or if you did, once, you do not any longer. And you never treated him poorly. Yet you pick at Iron Bull as if it’s your mission. But he is more than a pair of horns, to use your analogy. He is not savage and though he enjoys battle, I have never seen him seek it out. I have also seen him go to extraordinary lengths to prevent unnecessary casualties. He is not unthinking and he is interested in the outside world. Iron Bull is intelligent and kind and generous. And he is my friend.”  
“Iron Bull is exceptional—”  
“Stop, Solas,” she said. “You say that about so many people. You were surprised that Varric wrote novels because you thought that dwarves could not dream or imagine anything except what was in front of them. You were shocked that Dorian wanted to free slaves in Tevinter. You praised me as different from the Dalish. You think it is a compliment, but it _hurts_. The people you are talking about, the people you assume are ignorant or brutal or dull, those are our families. The people we’ve loved our entire lives, who raised us. We do not want to be different from them. I don’t want to stand apart from the Dalish— or from any elf.”

He didn’t know what to say. She watched him for a moment. “How many exceptions does it take, Solas, before you will start to question your assumptions? Maybe we aren’t what you’ve been lead to believe. It’s not only that Iron Bull deserves better. Do you _want_ to live like this? Assuming anyone who is not you and yours is an enemy or something to pity? Will the entire world have to persuade you to love it? Not everyone has my patience.”  
“I know,” he admitted.  
“You think I’m foolish or naive, that I can’t see danger coming. I can see it, emma lath. I realize the risks I take by opening the Inquisition to outsiders, by inviting others to Skyhold. It’s just that I choose to believe that most people are decent. That they want peace and plenty. That they are willing to try friendship first. Will you think on that?”  
“Of course, Inquisitor,” he said, and it felt good to hurt her a little with his formality. To hang on to his anger.  
She nodded and looked down. “I did not say this to cause you pain,” she said after a moment, trying to sweeten the sting. “I know how kind you are. How deeply you feel the injustice and sorrow in the world. I know you are capable of changing your mind. Of letting people in. Do you wish to hear how I know this?”

He waited, his arms folded over his chest, unconsciously mirroring her own stance in times of distress.  
“I know because you were able to change mine. If you’d asked me a year ago to believe that spirits were not a danger to us, that they had their own unique, independent existence, one that didn’t depend on possessing us, I would have believed you were insane. Ripe for abomination. Doomed and deluded. But you saw something in me that made you try to persuade me that I was wrong. You have tried harder to change my mind about the Fade than you have tried with anyone else. How could I stand by and not do the same? How could I not try with the same patience you have shown me?”  
“You have done your duty, then,” he said. His spine was rigid and his head throbbed. He just wanted her to finish so he could escape. “Have you more to say?” he snapped.  
She stepped toward him, raising a hand to his face. He did not respond. “I love you so much,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. “But I am— I am _ashamed_ for you.” Her hand dropped away. She wiped her eyes and calmed the stuttering sob that burst through. And then she waited, expecting his anger.

And he was angry. Hurt and shock and rage battled for the upper hand within him. He struggled to put it aside, to consider her words rationally. He could not.  
“You have not seen the world as I have, Inquisitor. You do not know what the Qunari are capable of. They are bred for one purpose only, to take more territory, to subject more people to the Qun. They live— they live like a hive. Without familial ties or affection that you so innocently attribute to them. No individual thought or action, no attempt at change or improvement. Anyone that risks a free thought is taken and their mind is tortured, broken until they stop any deviation from the Qun.”  
“That is what we see from the outside, Solas. The Qun gives them something, some belief, some purpose for their lives. Their families may be different from ours, their friendships and lovers take a different place in their lives, but I assure you, they _do_ share affection. If they did not, or if the Qun were wholly bad, then thousands of outsiders wouldn’t voluntarily convert. And people like Iron Bull wouldn’t be allowed to happen. He is not a lone exception. We may not understand the Qun or why people choose to follow it, but that doesn’t mean we should be cruel or treat them as less than us.”  
“They do not _choose_ —”  
“If you truly believe that, then why do you treat them with such disdain? If they are truly hapless victims, why do you heap blame and humiliation upon them as well? Even misplaced pity is better than—”

“Enough!” he shouted, and then smothered it, coming to the still, cool place where all the betrayal, all the hurt, all the exclusions lived inside him. “You have made your point quite clearly. I have pledged myself to the Inquisition and will endeavor to uphold the decisions made by it, regardless of my personal belief or misgiving. I will say no more about the Qun and perhaps, in time, you will not look upon me with such disgust as you do now.”  
“But I don—” She was weeping in earnest, wringing her hands. For years, even after the Veil and allowing the orb to fall to Corypheus, even after he told her the terrible truth, he would look back on it as his very darkest moment. The only one in which he truly _wanted_ to hurt her.  
“You can certainly have nothing left to say to me that you haven’t already. I bid you safe journey, Inquisitor.” He turned on his heel and left her sobbing on the bank of the river.

He did not return to Skyhold. It was too small, too filled with his own humiliations. He had no destination in mind, not even a true urge to escape, just the longing for motion, for mindless work that would unwind his bitterness, that would thaw him. He reached the first of several wolf statues along the path, past the cairn where she’d first seen Skyhold, out of sight, beyond their hearing. He paced in front of the statue watching it stare at him, mocking him. _How could she think so poorly of me? Have I truly been as vile as she makes me seem? Ashamed. Ashamed, she said. She does not know. She will see. She’ll find out how brutal they are._ He circled the wolf, his nails digging into the palms of his hand. _I’ve changed so much for her. How much will she ask? How much must I lose to her? Must I become witless and blind as well to please her?_ He reached the front of the wolf again, staring at its dead stone eyes. _They’ve poisoned her, stunted her. This is all the fault of the damned Dalish and their inability to see through even the most basic falsehoods._  
He raised his hand and shattered the statue, the massive crack and rumble of the stones tumbling into a sharp pile was somewhat satisfying. It wouldn’t mock him any longer.

“Maker’s balls, Chuckles, what did it ever do to you? Did you stub your toe on it or something?”  
Solas stiffened at the sound of Varric’s voice behind him. “You should leave,” he said, trying not to allow it to sound as threatening as he meant it.  
“I was coming to get your help with Cole. He’s— he’s broken or something. But now I think I might have found out why.”  
Solas turned. Cole was pacing at the bottom of the hill below, a nonstop stream of words that Solas could not hear spilling from him.  
“I thought he was trying to tell me the Inquisitor was in trouble, but I guess it’s you. He led us here.”  
“It is not me. As you can see, I am fine.”  
Varric stared at him for a moment. “Right, because blowing up innocent statuary is a normal thing for you.”  
“Leave it,” he warned.  
Varric crossed his arms. “No. It was a fight, wasn’t it? And Cassandra thought you two were quiet. What did she say to you that has you so touchy?”  
It was all the permission he needed to unload the injustice of it. “She said I was— that I’m prejudiced, judgmental. _Me_. That I assume anyone that isn’t me is an enemy. That I’ve insulted her and Dorian and _you_ by making a simple and _favorable_ comparison between you and your people. She won’t allow me to be present when the Inquisition meets with the Qunari envoy to—” He paused. Varric was grinning. Solas didn’t see the humor.  
“She finally said something, did she? Good for her.”

Solas was stunned. Varric shrugged. “Didn’t think Iron Bull was going to be the one that finally pushed her over the edge but, hey— it’s rough telling the person you love that they’re wrong.”  
“You _agree_ with her? After all I’ve done for the Inquisition—”  
“Shut up, Chuckles. This isn’t about what you’ve done or what you’re owed and you know it. If you’ve been traipsing around Thedas all this time thinking that the good things you’re doing gives you permission to keep doing shitty things on the side— well, you’re an even bigger idiot than Cassandra thinks. So the Inquisitor finally called you on your bullshit. So what? She’s done you a favor. The rest of us should have done it months ago. But you’re so— entrenched, Solas. And stubborn. You would have hated us. And she loves you so much. It would hurt her to see that. So, take the hit. You knew it was coming, some part of you knew. You knew you were wrong. Why else would you play chess with Bull? Or read my novels? Or become friends with Dorian? You already knew.”  
“I am not—”  
“I said, ‘Shut up.’ Just drop the superiority shit and listen for a while. Maybe we’ll surprise you. Or maybe you’ll just surprise yourself. Either way, she’ll be happy that you’re trying. And maybe you’ll be happier too.” Varric looked at him, expecting some response, but Solas had none. He was too angry to truly consider what his friend was trying to tell him. Varric sighed and shook his head. He pointed down toward Cole. “Can you at least help with him? I have a feeling you aren’t the only one destroying large boulders. Someone’s got to make sure the Inquisitor is all right.” Solas reluctantly followed him down the hill toward Cole. Varric patted the boy on the arm and said some low, calming words to him before continuing toward Skyhold, leaving Solas to stare at Cole as he paced and bit his nails.

He sighed, pushing aside the turmoil so that he could focus on Cole. “You must calm yourself, Cole. Take a deep breath. Dig your feet into the ground and remember to exist _here_ , in this place, fully. Shut out what is disturbing you-”  
Cole turned toward him, as if he were just realizing he was not alone. “You said you could never hurt her. I was there. I heard you. But you did. She hurts. She aches to take it all back, erase the pain she knows she created. But she can’t. Remember the Three Trees. Fly straight. Bend and never break. Never break, never break. It will help him. Make him stronger. But he is lost, lost to me. Lost. Everything. It takes and takes and takes. Faith and home and love, oh love. If I could only rip it out— if I could be me again—”  
“Stop, Cole. You cannot help her, you must shut it out.”  
“But _you_ can help her,” said the boy, clutching at Solas’s shoulder. “She thinks you hate her. She thinks that telling you the truth has cost her everything. You make her want to _lie_. She knows she is right, but it hurts anyway. Like she can’t breathe, like the horse on her chest. It’s not fair. Not fair, not fair. If he will not listen— if he will not try, what am I to do? You think she wants you to change for her sake. That she demands something of you to prove you care. She does not want it for herself, Solas. She does not expect you to alter for her. She wants it for _you_. So lonely, so sad. What will happen to him when I am gone? Who will love him as I do? Will the others take care of him? Will he let them? Cole, I have to find Cole—” The boy’s rapid speech stuttered out and he blinked out of sight.

Solas stood alone at the base of the hill, a mile of ground between him and Skyhold. He was wrung out, his rage slowly sputtering. He clung to it, tried to stoke it back to the fierce flame it had been just an hour before. Part of him knew that when it was gone, it would leave a terrible gulf of sorrow and shame in its wake. It was already encroaching, pushing on his edges, threatening to spill in and overrun him. It would be better if he could keep the anger. For them both. Even when he knew it was unjust. Let her hate him. Let her forget him. It would make the end easier. Time to admit he’d made an error. Many. Time to realize he couldn’t save her, never could, not even if Wisdom had helped him remove the mark. It would make her fight harder, make her last longer, if she was angry with him.

_But she is not. Patient and hurting, not angry_. She did not hate him, not even in the face of the dark ignorance she saw in him. _“Ashamed for you.”_ That is what she’d said. _For_ him, not _of_ him. She asked so little, so little for herself. Even this was not for her, not really. But it was not small. It would change him. Make it more difficult, in the end. If he let them in, if he stopped pushing everyone away— how could he do it? How could he leave them all here to die? _It’s too late,_ he realized, _She’s already done it. She’s already cracked you wide open. It’s no use resisting and you know it._ He sank down in the long grass to think on everything she’d said. To consider who he’d been. Slowly, rationally, without the scarlet seething haze of his resentment to color her words.


	48. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ul2hSba5pOs

He did not return to Skyhold that night. Nor in the morning until the sun was high, long after he knew that she left. It shamed him, but he could not face her. _Coward,_ he told himself, but it did no good. He was raw and aching. He feared seeing her disappointment in him would make his anger return. It had hurt her enough the first time.

  
Solas did not hide from the others though, he would not crawl or slink and make his transgressions worse. He took the armchair beside Varric’s desk without comment. The dwarf didn’t even look up. “You’re an asshole, Chuckles.”  
“I know,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”  
“Not me you should be apologizing to. I got the better end of the deal. Not every night I get to spend holding a beautiful woman, even if she _was_ crying.”

He deserved that. Accepted the raking slash of sorrow it left behind. “I realize that I owe the Inquisitor an apology as well. But I’ve also committed wrongs against you, Varric. And for that, I am truly sorry.”  
Varric looked up then, the quill stilled in his hand.  
“I would like to— to know you better,” Solas stuttered, “Who you really are, where you come from, what you believe. What I thought I knew of you— and of your people, has been wrong. I would like to remedy that, if you are willing to let me try.”  
“Andraste’s buttcheeks,” gasped Varric, “the woman is a flaming miracle worker.”  
“Yes,” he agreed, wiping his hands nervously down his pant leg.  
Varric stood up, dropping the pen. “Come on, Chuckles.”  
“Where are we going?” asked Solas, standing with him.  
“The Herald’s Rest. You owe me ale. And stories. Lots of catching up to do, almost a year’s worth. Best get started.”

He did not remember much of what followed. It had been centuries since he’d been that intoxicated. “I’m— sorry, Master Tethras,” he mumbled at some point, “I’ve lost the conversation…”  
Varric smacked him on the back. “That’s ok. Me too. We’ll get round to it again another time. Didn’t figure you for a lightweight though.”  
“Ir— ir abelas, it has been some time. Not since the regiment. Mythal—” he stopped to hiccup. “Didn’t like drunks. Shh. Secret.”  
Varric chuckled. “Yeah, well, no Mythal here. Say— you guys reuse names often?”  
Solas scrunched his face and shrugged. “What did you ask?” he muttered and then laughed.  
Varric shook his head with a smile. “Bull’s going to be so mad.”  
“Why?”  
“Because he bet me five sovereigns you were a surly drunk. I told him you’d be happy. Already screwed so tight normally. He never thought we’d be able to prove it either way.”  
“Hmm.”  
That was the only part he could remember. But Varric didn’t hit him the next morning, so he felt safe assuming he hadn’t done anything too terrible.

She didn’t send a raven that day.

Cookies. He didn’t know how to make cookies.  
“It’s not about the cookies,” said Cole with a smile. “She wants to pass something down. Wants to know something valuable that she can choose to share.”  
“But she just ignores me when I try to show her pieces of our history,” protested Solas.  
“Because she doesn’t think it matters today. Food. Bed. Touch. Love. They make her world. It’s all she wants. Everything she wants. To never have to be scared they will not be there. To stop anyone that tries to take them away. From her, from others.”  
Solas thought for a long while, plastering another section of the rotunda.

He found Sera that afternoon. She was chucking nut shells down at the guests from Vivienne’s balcony while the mage pointedly ignored her. She scrambled up when she saw him, expecting a scolding. He leaned against the railing where she’d been sitting. “I know something better,” he said softly, so Vivienne wouldn’t overhear.  
Sera squinted at him. “What you mean, something better? Not that revolution tripe again, is it? Or some elf nonsense?”  
He shook his head and looked down at the nobles below. He casually pointed to one. “See that man there?”  
She leaned to look. “Yeah, sure, painted stupid snob mask.”  
“That’s the Comte Chantral. He was incensed when the Inquisitor forced Celene and Gaspard to work together. He’s been courting the Empress for years and it effectively ended any chance he had at the throne, even if he should win the Empress’s hand.”  
Sera shrugged. “So?”  
“When he arrived here, he shouted at the Inquisitor, told her she was nothing but a whored out knife ear who slept her way to power.”  
Sera snorted. “Slept with who?”  
Solas shook his head. “Hatred never makes sense lethallan,” he said, suddenly feeling the statement deep in his center.  
“So why don’t you slug him?”

Solas let a sly grin spread over his face. “I told you, I know something better.” He glanced over his shoulder to be certain Vivienne was still occupied and lowered his voice. Sera leaned closer. “Hitting him would only make everyone think he was the injured party. Or worse, that he was right about elves. But make him look bad— make it so he can’t wear his pretty mask or show his face without being humiliated— _that_ would be more effective.”  
“How do we do that?” whispered Sera.  
“Dil’elvyrin. It’s a short poison that makes the exposed person break out in massive bulging spots and have— unfortunate bowel issues.”  
Sera’s mouth dropped open. “Pimples and he'd shit himself? That’s— that’s _wicked_. Do you know how to make it?”  
He smothered a laugh with his hand. “Let’s go visit Dagna,” he said. She ran down the steps ahead of him. Vivienne shot Solas a confused look. He shrugged and followed Sera.

Dagna was already fiddling with the distiller. She looked up with a wide grin. “I think I figured out a delivery method,” she said.  
Sera looked around at the various bowls of herbs and the glass vials in wonder. “You did this?” she asked, turning to him. He nodded. “I thought you were just going to hand it to me.”  
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “Besides, the Comte Chantral can’t be the only person deserving of a little justice. The Red Jennies could use it. Or you, if you like. The ingredients are easy to come by, a little blight cap and rashvine with a stabilizer and solvent.”  
“You’re going to show me how?”  
“If it pleases you.”  
She narrowed her eyes. “Is there magic in it?”  
“No, Sera, just herbs. Solid, worldly, grown in dirt things.”  
“How do you know I won’t use it on you? Is this some kind of trick?”  
“No trick,” he laughed, “at least, for anyone except the Comte. And I know the antidote— which I will also show you, in case of accident, so I am not afraid of you.”  
She punched his shoulder with a grin. “You _should_ be. I was considering slicing you to ribbons yesterday. But Creepy said the Inquisitor started it. Told you what was what. So I let it be.”  
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I would have deserved it if you had,” he said.  
“Enough gloomy sad-sack talk. Let’s make some pimple poop bombs!” Sera rubbed her hands together and Dagna giggled.

There was a raven that day, but it came from Cassandra. And the Inquisitor sent no message to him.

He was unable to sleep that night. He made his way out to the stables. Blackwall was still up, sanding the splintery edges of a small toy. “Bit late for you, Solas, isn’t it?” he asked.  
“I— wished to talk to you about Adamant, if it wouldn’t trouble you.”  
Blackwell slid down the workbench, making space for him. He handed Solas a paintbrush and pushed several color pots toward him without comment. Then he handed Solas the toy and began working on another blank block of wood with a small knife.

“Did you know Warden Stroud well?” he asked, carefully outlining the small doll’s eyes with black paint.  
“No. I never met him before Crestwood. He seemed a decent sort. But I’m certain the Inquisitor did all that she could.”  
“She wanted to stay,” said Solas.  
“I would have expected that she would.”  
“She promised to come back for him, but Stroud told her not to. He said he wanted her to live the life that had been taken from her by Corypheus.”  
“He was a Gray Warden. That is what the Wardens fight for. Normal people being able to live their normal lives.”  
“Yes,” said Solas, “I know they do their best. The Inquisitor made a hard decision when she sent them away.”  
“I know why she did. But it’s a mistake. They know now, that the Calling wasn’t real. They wouldn’t fall prey to it again. She let me stay.”  
“One Warden is easier to keep track of than two hundred. And you have many friends who would keep you from following the Calling.”  
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Solas turned the doll sideways as he painted in its hair. He smiled to see the slender tips of pointed ears. “She needs you, Blackwall. She trusts in you. We all do.” He glanced up at the man beside him. “You are a good friend and a good Warden.” He turned back to the doll. Blackwall was silent. Solas wondered if he’d troubled the man or if he were just getting tired. “And you never cheat at cards, which is more than I can say for almost all the others,” he added at last.  
Blackwall chuckled, and Solas drew in a relieved breath. “So that’s why I always lose,” said the Warden.  
“There are more important contests than Diamondback, Blackwall. And I’ve yet to see you bested in those.”  
They worked in peaceful silence for another hour. Solas returned to his quarters and was able to sleep at last.

Two more days without ravens passed, and he could bear it no longer, though the others tried their best to keep him occupied.  
He walked to the river. It was too cold and too early for the dawn lotus to sprout, but he looked anyway. He found their tiny box of seeds. Three were left inside. He planted two beside the others. The last, he forced, pouring energy into the seed. It split and shot up, silver thread roots and dusky green stem. The bud bulged and unfurled, a spinning, glowing star. He took it back to the rotunda. He sat, twisting it between his fingers, wondering how much he should write or if it would hurt her, lead to misunderstandings.

Cole appeared beside him, sitting on a stack of books that sat at the corner of his desk. “She wants you to love her. That’s all.”  
“I _do_.”  
“But she doesn’t know. It should be a simple thing. You make it so much more complicated than it has to be.”  
“It only seems simple. It is not.”  
Cole shook his head. “So stubborn. The world is not simple. Your memories, your thoughts and your promises and your worries, those are not simple. This can be, if you let it.”  
Solas was silent.

“It’s the words. I understand. Words are slippery and twist out of shape. I will get Varric, he can help, he makes them stay.”  
“No! Thank you, Cole, but this is something I should do myself.”

Vhenan,  
Please forgive my anger. It was foolish and undeserved. And if you cannot, at least know that you are loved.

I miss you.

I am trying.

He settled on simplicity at last, carefully rolling the fragile flower inside the tiny scroll case. Cole grabbed it and raced up to the rookery, fearing Solas would change his mind. He sighed and tried to be patient.

There were no ravens for several days, and then just one before they left the Storm Coast. The alliance had fallen through. The Qunari dreadnoughts had sunk when the Inquisition forces became overrun by Venatori and she called a retreat rather than lose her people. He had the good sense to at least pretend he was disappointed by the loss of an ally. He had hoped the lack of response was because she had been occupied, but as the days drew on and the scouts returned, dread began to overtake him. He could only hope that Cole’s continued silence on the matter meant that she was not distressed.

News that Iron Bull had been cast out, branded Tal Vashoth for the failure came with the scouts. The dreadnoughts had been allowed to be destroyed in order to save his Chargers. A week before, Solas might have thought it a good thing. He might have been pleased that Iron Bull was free of the Qun.

Solas did not like the Qun. He could not bring himself to consider it a good thing. Not yet, anyway. But he liked Iron Bull. He considered, instead, what Iron Bull had likely lost. His friends, his home, his culture, because he’d been forced into a terrible choice. Solas understood that pain.

He wanted to haunt the front gate, wanted some glimpse, some hint that she had not given up on him. But he forced himself away. He did not want other eyes or ears when she told him she no longer wanted him. He did not want the humiliation in addition to the grief. He could hear the chaos when they entered the keep, even down in the old library. He strained to listen for a few moments, hoping for the tones of her voice, but persuaded himself to return to his reading eventually. His heart leapt when the door rattled and opened. He stood up. His mood plummeted when he saw it was only Dorian with an armful of scrolls. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand. _It is for the best_ , he told himself.

“Well, thank you for the warm reception. I’m so happy to see you as well,” said Dorian. “And Varric said you’ve been downright cordial while we’ve been gone.” He dropped the scrolls and poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the table.  
“I’m sorry Dorian— I _am_ pleased you are home safe. I was just—”  
“Expecting somebody else?” asked Dorian.  
“Is she well?”  
Dorian scowled. “No. She’s been miserable for a week and a half. Not to us, of course, just to herself. Cassandra is furious. She wouldn’t let her answer your message. She says to let you stew, it’d do you good.” He paused and took a sip. “Of course, if we knew it would do you _this_ much good, I might have insisted we stay longer. Even if it was the sodding Storm Coast. But Iron Bull…” Dorian trailed off and a flicker of sadness passed over him.  
“Is he taking it terribly hard?”  
Dorian shook his head. “Well, actually, yes,” he amended, “but I hope to make him see it was the better choice soon. The Chargers have been his family for most of his adult life now. And sharing his bed with a Tevinter mage would have eventually sent him for reeducation at the very least, once the Ben Hassreth realized I wasn’t really giving him any useful information.” He waved an arm. “Enough, I’ve had enough melancholy for a month.” He leaned forward. “Is it true that Varric got you stinking drunk?”  
“I don’t remember,” he groaned.  
Dorian laughed. “Bull is going to be irritated. He and Varric had a bet—”  
“I remember that part,” said Solas.  
“And what happened to the Comte? Leliana said he fell ill and made a hasty departure for Orlais.”  
Solas shrugged.  
“Sera kept giggling when I asked, something about elvish bombs?”  
“Haven’t the faintest idea what Sera is talking about half the time,” he said casually, turning back to his book.

“Are you really going to sit there with a moldy old book in your hand while the Inquisitor paces her quarters for three more hours? That was the worst of it,” grumbled Dorian, “the constant pacing. I thought the poor woman would walk herself apart.”  
“What shall I say?”  
“You’re asking _me_?”  
“You’ve always given me good advice before.”  
Dorian choked on a mouthful of wine.  
“Well— except for those boots. That was disastrous,” Solas added.  
“Beauty is pain, Solas. Not my fault you can’t appreciate decent fashion.” He set down the glass and leaned over the long table. “You aren’t— you aren’t teasing? You actually think my opinion has value?”  
“Yes, Dorian. I think you are far better than I at reading people. You warned me about Morrigan and all of us about Alexius. You’ve given me good counsel when it comes to my relationship with the Inquisitor, in particular. I may not do everything you recommend, but I always consider it.” He thought for a moment and then closed the book and met Dorian’s gaze. “I apologize for not saying so before.”  
Dorian was dumbstruck.

Solas opened the book again and found his place. “Why are you sitting there?” cried Dorian.  
“Because I have no idea what to say to her that won’t hurt more. And you have yet to offer a suggestion.”  
Dorian sprang up and grabbed his hand. “Well, you can’t go meet her like that. This calls for a grand gesture. Come with me.”

 

But there was one more rift to heal before he could bring himself to face her. He knew he had a long way to go, that he had made terrible mistakes. He could not hope to erase them. But he hoped he could be less unworthy of her, just a little. Less unworthy of his friends.

He grabbed the last bucket of stones and stopped at the Herald’s Rest. He set it down in front of Iron Bull, who was watching the Chargers swap stories and laughs with a distant look in his eye. “Dorian said you were brooding,” said Solas. “I see he was correct.”  
Iron Bull looked over at him.  
“Nothing like a little manual labor, correct?”  
Bull grinned. “You know I prefer a good brawl, right?”  
“If you wish to hit me, it can be arranged,” he answered, “but I doubt I would be much of a match in hand to hand combat.”  
“Nah, Solas, we’re good. I don’t want to hit you.”  
“Then perhaps I can offer an alternative?” He picked up the bucket and hoped Iron Bull was following him. The War room corridor was going to be awfully hard to fix alone.

He expected Iron Bull would want to work in silence. He’d prepared himself to work into the conversation, had considered several questions that he hoped would not offend Iron Bull. But Bull barely got through the first layer of stone and mortar before he said, “If this is just a way to get back into the Inquisitor’s bed, you can count me out.”  
Solas sighed. “It is not. I do not expect her ever to look at me the way that she did. I have been needlessly antagonistic with you. I assumed that you were little more than a beast. Cunning and feral. It is not an excuse, but it is what I was taught by others— scholars and memories in the Fade. I did not consider that those scholars and interactions were not the entirety of the Qunari. I know very, very little of your people. I was wrong to treat you as I have. And whatever happens with the Inquisitor, it is a wrong I would address. I am sorry, Bull.”

Iron Bull lifted a heavy rock with a huff. “I have a feeling you’ve been saying that quite a bit lately. I only want to be certain that you mean it.”  
“I do. I can offer no more proof than continuing to try to do better. And accepting it if you tell me I am not succeeding.”  
“If it will keep the Boss from going through what she did this week, then I’ll happily tell you off any time.” Bull laughed, and Solas answered with a weak smile, still feeling sorrow for the Inquisitor.  
“What did you end up telling her about death?” he asked.

Bull scratched at the base of his horn. And then slathered more mortar between the stones. “Well, first I told her about the Antaam and their swords. But she— she isn’t used to swords. I could have said her staff, but it isn’t the same. It isn’t permanent. She’s broken more than one since I met her. So I told her it was like a tree. I thought the Dalish would like trees. Probably silly, but it seemed to make her feel better. I said that, to us, the Qun was like the tree, the whole tree, the trunk and the branches and the roots and the leaves. And that the Qunari are like the leaves. The Qun needs the leaves to survive, to grow, but the loss of one leaf wouldn’t hurt it very much. That each living thing, each leaf, could rest easy when it finally fell. It would know that the tree went on. It had been there before that leaf and it would be there long, long after. And though that leaf’s contribution to the tree was small, it would last forever. The same with the Qun.” Bull shook his head and tried to smooth the layer of straw and mud. “I am not certain she understood. It seemed to help, but she kept her fear so quiet all this time— how would I know?”  
Solas wedged another rock into place. “Does it help you? To know that the Qun continues, that what you have done will not be lost?”  
Iron Bull sighed. “In a way. But I see her point now.”  
“What was that?”  
“She asked me what happened to the leaf after it fell. I said— I said it wasn’t important. I didn’t understand what she meant then.”  
“You have not fallen, Bull. What you do with the Inquisition and with your Chargers still has permanence. You still matter. Even if you’re only one leaf.”  
“But that’s just the thing, Solas.” He leaned on the top of the stones, staring out of the shrinking gap. “Being part of the Qun— even being away from them, it still gave me a guide. Made me remember how to be one of them. Of us. But now— will I lose the shape of it? Will I lose myself? It is not even a question I would have asked a few years ago. Ideas like ‘self’ have no— they aren’t the same at home. What will I become without the Qun?”  
“You did not reject the Qun. Par Vollen may have pushed you out, but Par Vollen is not the Qun. And no one can take its tenets from you for as long as you wish to honor them. You just said it, a moment ago. The Qun existed before you. It will exist after you. But it cannot exist without you. You are The Iron Bull. You are no Tal Vashoth and no one but you can make you one. You have Dorian. And the Inquisitor. And you have me. We will not let you lose yourself.”

  
Iron Bull lifted another stone. “You two should fight more often. Makes you a better man.”  
“It’s her, not the fighting, that does that,” he said with a frown.  
“Yeah, but the make up sex—” Bull jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Solas shook his head but was silent. “You mean to tell me you still haven’t?” asked Bull. “After that whole thing with Leliana, and still nothing?”  
She’d warned him this would happen. “Does it matter?” he asked. “In light of the past week, I should perhaps be glad of that fact.”  
“She told me what you fought about. It’s why I asked if you meant all this. I told her to forget about it. That we could all deal with one cranky elf. Anyway, I told her just to let it go and be happy with you. We’d understand. She was— _is_ — a wreck. Cassandra was so pissed at you. But the Boss said it wasn’t just her and it wasn’t just us. She insisted that she’d done the right thing, that you would be better for it, even if it meant you’d hate her.” He stopped and put a hand on Solas turning to look at him fully. “I found her staring at the beach, the night before the meet-up. Near where I threw Dorian in that time, you remember?”  
Solas nodded with a faint smile.  
“The mark— was bad. Really bad. It’s stretched over her entire palm now, all spidery lines like the cracks you see in fresh ice. She said it was taking everything. That it would kill her. Did you know?”  
“Yes.”  
Bull nodded. “She asked me to take you with us, after. She said I was the only one that would, even though we weren’t friends.”  
“What did you tell her?”  
“That you were an asshole, but we were still friends. And that if you wanted to come with us, I’d make sure the templars didn’t find you. She has to worry about the entire world, but she worries about you _more_. Think about that, Solas. She’s got a shard of poison in her hand, several thousand people depending on the outcome of her choices, and an ancient mind-fuck tevinter monster chasing her, and what she cares most about is what’s going to happen to _you_. Doesn’t sound like rejection to me.”


	49. Never Shaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gPYyJpdEv4&index=4&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

He stood outside her door looking at the small silver gem in his hand. “She doesn’t want a grand gesture, Dorian,” he’d said, “She doesn’t like them.”  
Dorian had rolled his eyes. “ _Everybody_ likes grand gestures, Solas, once in a while. Besides, I thought you wanted help.”  
But when he looked at it in the dark hallway, hearing the creak of her ceaseless movements above, it seemed such a small thing. It all seemed so small. The night with Varric, the dil’elvyrin, the wall outside the war room. So small. It would never be enough. _That does not mean I should not try,_ he told himself.

He activated the crystal and a woman’s face appeared. “Are you ready, hahren?” he asked softly.  
“Yes, lethallin, we are all ready here.” The woman smiled and the vision moved as she showed the crystal to a group of others.  
“Good, I will get the Inquisitor.”  
He knocked on the door. The creaking ceased and slow steps approached. He held his breath. Her door swung open. He was relieved to see that she was not disheveled and did not appear to have been crying. She looked tired, but not unwell. That was good. It would not do for her family to see her in pain.

  
“Solas— I— would you come in?” She held the door open for him but he shook his head with a small smile.  
“I have brought guests, Vhenan, they are very anxious to speak with you.”  
There was a murmuring and sharp “hush” from the crystal as they heard him speak. She did not hear. “Very well, let me just get the reports for Josephine, I’ll drop them on the way—”  
He caught her hand and placed the gem gently onto her palm. “There is no need, they are here.”

  
“Da’len!” Deshanna’s voice was happy and breathless, “It is so good to see you!”  
“Keeper?” her face was like dawn. She glanced up at him, her eyes bright with tears again, happy this time, he hoped. “Oh Solas— is it real?”  
“Yes, emma lath, you are speaking to your real clan. Not a shadow or a dream. They can see and hear you as well.”  
She looked back at the crystal. “Emma lath? Is there something you wish to tell us, Da’len?”

He slipped away before she looked up again. Dorian heard him enter the rotunda and leaned over the railing above. He scowled when he saw who it was. “That was too fast. What did you do? Did you do it as I told you?”  
“Yes, Dorian,” he laughed, “She is speaking with them now.”  
“It got there in time then?” Dorian hurried down the stairs.  
“Yes, just. I thought it would have to wait until morning.”  
“Don’t doubt my birds,” Leliana shouted down.  
Solas shook his head. Still listening then. At least she’d stopped with the Inquisitor. He hoped.

“So, tell me…” said Dorian.  
“The picture was very clear. I think you are correct, it is very like a small eluvian—”  
“Forget the damned magic, Solas. What did she say? Was she happy?”  
“I hope so. I did not want to make her wait to speak with them.”  
“You’re terrible at this, you know.”  
“Only with her. Only because it matters so much this time.”  
Dorian glanced at the door. “So, the Inquisitor hasn’t seen them in a while, she will probably talk to them for some time. Would you like to go get a drink? Or are you going to sit here in the dark and moon over her until she comes to find you?”  
“He’s going to sit in the dark and moon over her,” shouted Leliana.  
“Ugh. Are you coming?” he shouted back, “Or are you just going to sit in the dark with him screeching like a harpy?”  
“No need to yell, Dorian,” she said from the stairwell, “I’m here.”  
“Well then, Solas, what’s it to be? Leliana’s buying since she caused me palpitations.”  
He shook his head with a smile. “Another night.”  
“Suit yourself. I hope you have a happy wait.” Dorian turned toward Leliana and then back. He squeezed Solas’s shoulder. “Good luck, I mean it.”

It was very late. The candle had almost burnt itself out and he had jerked awake in his seat three times. He rubbed his eyes and put aside the report he had been pretending to read. She wasn’t coming. Of course she wasn’t. What had he expected? He stood up and blew out the light, making his way to the stairs in the dark. He tried not to look up at the hole in the ceiling. He did not want to remember her star stories. Not that night. Still, he lingered at the door, reluctant to open it and walk to his quarters. It felt final, somehow. As if he were accepting the loss. He pushed it open. There was nothing else to do. The helplessness disturbed him.

He lay in the dark, wanting to call veilfire, wanting to illuminate the memories she’d left him, but it felt too much like self-flagellation. He could not sleep, and half expected Cole to appear to find out what was wrong. But his quarters remained empty. He had drifted off into a fitful doze at last when his door finally clicked open. He sat up as someone slid inside and shut it again. He reached for his staff, careful not to scrape it against the floor and flung a ball of veilfire into the lantern. The Inquisitor looked over in surprise and he dropped the staff. It clattered against the stone.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I did not want to wake you. It is very late. I only wanted to return this.” She held her hand out to him, the crystal glittering in the blue light. He reached out for it. “Thank you,” she said, “seeing my clan was— it was unexpected. I have been worried for them. Wycome has not been friendly of late.”  
“Are they safe?” he asked, standing to be closer to her.  
“For now. They were able to destroy the lyrium poisoning the wells and cleanse some of the victims. Deshanna says they will stay until they are certain the alienage will not suffer reprisals.”  
He nodded. “That is wise.”  
“Thank you, again. It was very kind.”  
“I cannot take all the credit. It was Dorian that figured out how to make it function correctly when I was stuck.”  
“I will be sure to thank him as well. In the morning. You should go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.” Her hand was on the doorknob and he panicked.  
“Don’t go,” he said, covering her hand. She looked down at it, and he was afraid she would think he was trying to force her.

He let go and backed away a step. “Please, stay. I cannot promise that I’ve changed, but I am trying. You only meant to help and I met you with anger and coldness. Let me mend the hurt I have caused.” She let go of the door and turned back to him. She reached out, slow, uncertain, ran a finger down the leather cord she had twined around the wolf’s jaw.  
“Varric said you were so angry that you reduced a statue of Fen’harel to rubble. He thought it would reassure me that you still cared, but—” she shook her head and fell silent.  
“It was a foolish, destructive impulse. Forgive me. I will piece it back together if it pleases you.” He inched closer, pulled her face gently up. “I am— not graceful in distress. You have seen it twice now, when Wisdom was killed and again, this week. They are not the only instances, though I have striven to prevent it from occurring. It always leads to hasty, impulsive acts that only result in sorrow and regret. And now— I have harmed the being that I love most in all the world.” He found her fingers, tracing the thin bones of her hand with his thumb, asking for her touch. “This lesson has been too long and too hard on others. On you. But— I have found the best teacher. If I can learn a fraction of your patience— I cannot promise to be perfect, but I will endeavor never to become so angry again. Even if I did, even if it consumed me— there will never come a day when I don’t care for you. No, not care. It is too pale a word. I _love_ you. I miss you. You are not just my heart, but my reason and sanity as well.” She leaned into him and he lost the trail of words, lost what he meant to say, desperate to keep her. Reduced to a simple plea whispered against her cheek. “Ahnsal gara, ar lath ma. Sathan, Vhenan, lanaste, lanaste.”  
“No,” she said, “Not mercy. It is not pity that makes me love you.”  
“Then why? Why me, when I have hurt you so?” he asked.

  
“Shall I make a list?” Her smile made him sag with relief.  
“Yes,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Yes, I need a list.” The corner of her mouth was soft under his lips.  
“It is very long,” she said, a shiver rippling through her as he traced her ear with his thumb.  
“It has been a trying week. And I promise that I can match your list with my own.” The band in her hair unwound between his fingers.  
“Should I begin now?” she asked and he swallowed her words before she could finish.  
“No,” he managed when they parted, “Tomorrow. Don’t waste breath on lists.” He kissed her again before she could protest, turning her gently toward his bed.  
“It’s very late—”  
“Then come to bed,” he answered, pulling her down to sit beside him.  
“But we agreed—”  
“We did.” He traced the curve of her throat breathing warm air across the fragile skin. “I will not ask you for that, though I long to. I only wish to keep you near, to hear your breathe, to wake with you. Only to keep you. Please, stay. I can sleep in the bedroll—”

She kissed him to make him silent and pushed him down onto the bed. She was not gentle, and he realized that she, too, had been angry. He raised his arm to put out the light, but she grabbed it and pulled his hand back to her waist. “Leave it,” she said. “It is almost dawn, and I wish to see you.”  
She fumbled with her jacket, the anchor light flashing as she slid the buttons free. _Like spidery cracks in fresh ice, that is what Bull said._ He pulled her hand down to see.

  
“No,” she said, wrenching it away. “Not now. Not today.” She wriggled out of the jacket and he started on the thin leather armor panels beneath. “No anchor, no Inquisitor. No slaves. No—” she lifted the jawbone and hesitated. “What is this exactly?”  
“A promise. Many. An oath.”  
She pulled it over his head, careful, but certain. “Definitely none of those.” She placed it gently on the top of her jacket and he got the armor unlaced and dropped it beside them. He might have gone further, might have forgone that promise, too, except she was so obviously weary. It made dark hollows in her face and care lines near her brow. The necklace was the last of her impatience and she did not protest when he moved her into the warm hollow his body made on the bed. Her eyes were already drooping, though she tried to match his kisses.

“You have not been sleeping,” he said.  
“I could not.”  
“Neither could I,” he admitted.  
She yawned. “Sleep now, then. It is over, it is mended.”  
He doubted that, and pulled her closer, grateful for the warm, solid weight of her. She passed light fingers over his shoulder and arm, slow and soft, trying to soothe him. Or herself. He was not certain.  
“I do not like it when we argue. No more disagreements.”  
“Solas,” she muttered against his skin, “If we did not argue, half of our days would pass in utter silence. What on earth would we talk about?”  
He laughed. “Then when this is done, you’ll leave for some more quarrelsome man?”  
“No. We’ll just find smaller things to argue about.”  
“Like?”  
“Oh,” she murmured, “I don’t know. How much rashvine to put in dil’elvyrin, maybe? Leliana said the Comte’s servants are still cleaning the lavatory.”  
“I told Sera only one spray on the bedsheets—”  
“Mmm. She said you had a particularly evil laugh when Dagna dunked them into the vat.”  
_Void take that girl’s tongue,_ he thought. “Are you angry?”  
She tilted her head back to look at him. “Did you send the antidote?”  
“Before the sheets were even returned to his bed.”  
“Then, no—” she yawned again. “You see, emma lath? We are arguing just fine without the end of the world. Now go to sleep.”  
“Shall we continue the argument in the Fade?” He slid his fingers through her hair, pressing the tension from her scalp, watching her sink farther. _Permanence, Bull said. We all crave permanence._  
“Not the argument. But we can continue this part…” she trailed off and he let her slip below the surface, following her into dreams a moment later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know, I know, I have a novel to finish. But I couldn't just leave it like that)


	50. The Dam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09XerLqXHyc

“No,” he muttered as she shifted under his arm. He didn’t bother to open his eyes.  
“It is late,” she said, pulling his arm between them, “Midmorning. We have things to take care of. I’m surprised no one has come looking yet.”  
“Two days furlough. For harvest, remember? Anyone not in the fields is in the tavern. Nobody’s going to look.” He opened his eyes and the fight was still like an aching sore, regret flaring again in him. “And I am not finished mending this yet.”

She watched him for a long moment. At last, she said, “What is not already mended will take more than a morning. And would have to be more than just between us.”  
“I know. But allow me to start.”

She sat up abruptly, pushing away from him. “No,” she said.  
“No?”  
“No. I don’t want guilt or apologies. It does nothing except make us both miserable. You’ve addressed the past. The others seem to have forgiven you.”  
He looked up at her. “I am content to follow your guidance, Vhenan. What would you have me do?”  
“Do _better_. Try harder. Remember that there are real, feeling hearts beneath the skin. That we have been shaped by our families and our past, but we start and end the same. That we’re on your side.”  
He looked away at that. “That was not always true. And someday, it may not be true again,” he warned her.  
She leaned over and pulled him back to face her. “It is true now. And these people deserve your friendship. They have earned it.”  
“Yes, they have. More than earned it,” he admitted.  
But she had heard his hesitation. “Solas— I cannot fix the way you were treated before. But you don’t need to worry that I would turn from you in the future. I am always on your side—”  
He shook his head and she frowned.  
“We may argue, emma lath,” she insisted, “but that doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned you.” Her brow wrinkled, altering the picture of her vallaslin. “Do you truly believe I will betray you in the future?”  
He pressed a thumb across her forehead to smooth away her worry. “I do not doubt you,” he said, tempted to say more, but resisting.

“Then— is it yourself?”  
He began to rise from the bed but she pushed him back. “I think you’ve run far enough for one week,” she said dryly, trapping him, a knee to either side of his hips.  
He sighed and put his hands on her waist, half-intending to lift her gently away, but her words made him stop. “Do you remember the mayor of Crestwood?”  
“Yes, of course.”  
“Why didn’t you have him executed?”  
She shook her head, confused. “Why are you changing the subject?”  
“I am not, Vhenan. The question is an important one.”  
“Because it would not have helped anyone if he were to die. You didn’t see what the village was like. He was pressed into making the decisions that he did. Admittedly, some of his previous choices were ignorant and made his final decision worse, but that last one— what was the man to do? If he’d sent a rescue mission for the ill villagers, they would have been overrun. If he had held off on opening the dam, the entire town would have been lost. They did not have an army— maybe not even any warriors. A few farmers and chantry sisters, that was all. How could I condemn him? It may not have been my decision, were it me, but I think he truly believed it was the only way.”

“Imagine you were— perhaps not the mayor. Perhaps the architect who had designed the dam, and the only person with the key to the controls. And that, maybe, the village was using the dam in a way that was not intended. Because of this extra use, the dam has come to the end of its life and you know it will crumble, soon. Tomorrow, a week, a month at most. Every day, you walk the length of it, checking to see how bad it has gotten. And everywhere are cracks that were not present the previous day. And you patch, every day, you seal more cracks. Until it consumes you, it is all you can do. And still the dam gets worse. You tell the villagers, you warn them. But they don’t see the cracks, because they are busy with their own lives. Perhaps a few come to help you patch the cracks, but most of them ignore you or decide that there is nothing they can do. A portion of the town, perhaps five or ten people are strong swimmers or have trusted you enough to build boats. Your friends, your family, myself, are not among them. But even boats and swimming will not save them when the dam utterly gives way. It will be a wall of water that sweeps over the entire town, swallows up the valley. Or— you can warn these people, the swimmers and those with boats— and then open the controls and let the water flood the village a little early. So that you can ease the pressure on the dam, so you are more in control of the water. To give those who can a chance to escape. But it is still early. The people that drown would have had a few more days to live if you let the dam collapse, but there would be no survivors. Imagine this choice, emma lath. What would you do?”

Her face was intent, her hand rubbing the top of her leg as she always did when she was thinking. “Could you not evacuate the town first?”  
He shook his head. “There is no escape from the valley in this story. Only by keeping above water could someone survive.”  
“Could you warn them, perhaps teach more to swim or build more boats?”  
“You might. But consider that you told the town what you intended to do. A few very industrious people or strong people might learn how to swim in that time or build a boat. But not many would be capable of it. Some would simply be too weak to manage it. Some wouldn’t believe you until it was too late. Those that accepted it would have the worst fate, their last days would be filled with terror and sorrow as they realized how inescapable the event was. Those that refused to accept it would either go on blissfully to the end, or they would become angry, try to stop you, assume you were responsible for it all, not just the faulty dam, but the very water behind it. They might resort to violence. Even those you love. They would not understand how you could consider it. They would turn from you, perhaps strike you down with their own hand. And that would make the choice for you, the dam would crumble and all would be washed away. But if you stayed silent, the people who could not survive would go to their deaths peacefully, and those that could survive would be saved.”

She folded her arms. “There must be another way.”  
“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but time would run out while you searched for it.”  
“I don’t think that I would wish to survive knowing that it was at the expense of everyone I held dear,” she said slowly, “but I don’t know that I could deny others their chance to try. I know what the right choice is, it’s blatantly obvious. But how could I make it, knowing I could spend another day, another hour, another breath with you?”  
He pulled her arms down, threaded his fingers into hers. “Then— you would let the dam fall?”  
“How could I kill you? How could anyone ask that of me?”

He waited. She raked her hand through her hair. And then he felt an abrupt straightening in her spine under his fingertips.  
“I would open the dam,” she said. “I would wait as long as I could, but I would open it.” There was a hardness in her face that he recognized. One that he had seen in her before and one he had felt in himself as well. But behind the front, she doubted. “Have I chosen correctly?”  
“Perhaps there is no correct choice,” he said

She looked down at their hands. “I needn’t have asked Bull to take you with him, then?”  
“No, my love, but I am touched that you thought to.”  
She nodded and her hand tightened around his. He sat up to meet her where she knelt above him, though whether he wanted most to give her comfort or for her to soothe him, he could not have said. “What is the dam, Solas? What is the water?” she whispered, “I will find another way, whatever it is, whatever you must do. There is always another way. Let me-”  
He shook his head. “You have your own flood to stand against, Vhenan. It will be some years before I must make my own choice. Perhaps we may never come to it at all.”  
She slid a hand over his cheek. “And this is why you push us away? Why you fight me? Because it would be easier to open the dam if you didn’t know anyone in the village. If it were a stranger that did it.”  
He managed a weak smile. “It is what I thought, at first. But if I had to go back— I would have kissed you sooner rather than later. I would not have missed loving you for anything. And— if I knew how to swim, emma lath, I would spend every breath teaching you how. But I am as lost as anyone else. Sathan, tel’nan’em.”  
“I will _never_ hate you, Solas.” She kissed him, and it was fierce and hard. Unyielding. He thought he might feel the bruise from it in his heart. “We will find another way.”  
“I know you will try,” he sighed.  
“I understand why you are reluctant to speak of it, but— I would rather know, when it comes. Do not let me die confused and helpless.”  
“I will not,” he said, “if I thought you would prefer it otherwise, I would not have said this much.”  
“Is there nothing I can do to help?”

He pulled her marked palm between them, tracing the emerald threads scattered across her skin. “You already are. Before we worry about the dam that will burst tomorrow, we must defeat the monster that rampages today. If Corypheus wins— then he will have to choose and not I.” He folded her fingers gently. “Enough, Vhenan. I cannot speak of this any longer. I cannot think of it more today. It has been a terrible week and I would not spend our day in sorrow.”  
“Yes,” she said slowly, “Of course, we will talk of other things.” She moved to release him, but she was troubled. Of course she was. It still crept up on him, and he’d had almost two years to accept it. He caught her hips to stop her.  
“It is not your worry, Vhenan. Do not make it so. I only thought to give you a reason— you asked for one, once.”  
“And yet you give me parables. I appreciate the challenge, Solas,” she gave him a fond and tired smile, “but you needn’t speak in riddles for my sake.”  
“No. I need to speak that way for my own. This has been— difficult. And you have been very patient. A little longer, emma lath. You chip away at the heaviness every day. I find myself able to say more, to be more courageous every time we speak.”  
“I will wait then,” she said, folding him into her chest. “And play your riddle game until you trust me.”  
“Thank you,” he said, meaning many things. She was silent a long moment and then pressed her lips to his ear.  
“But take care, fanor, because someday I may resort to other methods of loosening your tongue.” She laughed softly as he shivered, and the fear dropped away from him to hear it.


	51. Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mo_DMGc2v5o

“I don’t know,” sighed Dorian. “We’ve been at this for days. Every esoteric form of magic and none seem right.”  
“Why do you assume it’s a magic technique he is after?” asked Iron Bull.  
Solas looked up from the scroll he’d been trying to read. “You think otherwise?”  
Iron Bull shrugged. “Well, he _tried_ magic, right? If we believe what he told the Inquisitor in Haven, he’s been there before. Which means he was one of the original seven. And all accounts say they used blood magic. _Lots_ of blood magic. So he knows that method works—”  
“Or it _did_. If it works now, why wouldn’t he have resorted to that first?” asked Solas, though he knew Wisdom had sealed it against blood magic centuries before.

  
Iron Bull shrugged. “Lack of support? The first time he had six other magisters and an army of slaves to use as his blood pool. Maybe that’s why he’s trying to recruit so many. Once he’s a god, what would he care about Gray Wardens or Templars? But right now, he needs a way in. Maybe they are meant to be his sacrifice. Anyhow, we’ve gotten away from my point. He’s used blood magic. Then he found that orb thing. If the Inquisitor hadn’t stopped him, he would have used it to pass through the Fade to get there. But he’s lost the mark. And now he’s lost a pretty sizable ally inside the Fade and half of his blood pool out here, since we sent the Wardens out of reach. But his goal wasn’t ever really the Fade, it was the Black City.”  
“We _know_ ,” groaned Dorian, clutching his head.  
“So why mess with magic at all? It’s expensive, it draws attention and it’s prone to interruption.”  
“How else is he going to get in? You think he’s just going to stroll up to the gate of the Black City, knock on the gate and say, ‘Hello, Maker, would you mind terribly letting me in?’”  
“Well— yeah. Except maybe with more siege weaponry. At least, that’s what I’d do,” said Iron Bull.

Solas leaned forward. Dorian patted Bull on the shoulder. “It’s very sweet you are trying to help, but the Black City only exists in the Fade, and it’s inaccessible there.”  
“Then how’d he find it in the first place?” asked Bull.  
“Fenedhis,” Solas swore, flinging books aside and crumpling scrolls in his haste.  
Dorian stared at him. “What? You mean you really think he just followed some forest path and wandered into the Maker’s seat one day?”  
Solas didn’t answer him, he was too busy ticking off eluvians in his head. There had been so many, and his network was incomplete. Tevinter was accounted for, he’d made certain of that.  
“Why is that so hard to believe?” asked Iron Bull.  
“Well, for one thing, why were they the only ones that did so? Why isn’t every fanatic and their brother in the Black City right now?”  
“Because it has a powerful enchantment guarding it,” said Solas absentmindedly. “An illusion or a memory spell like Cole’s.” _Yes, that is the kind of thing Wisdom would do. And why it was not difficult for me to walk out of it on waking. Am I an exception? Or is it only because I was attempting to leave instead of enter?_

“You think he’s looking for a way to break the enchantment?” asked Dorian.  
He shook his head, but it was Iron Bull that answered. “If he did that, he’d have to deal with competitors. No, he’d want to find a way in that didn’t break the safeguards.”  
“Then we’re right back where we started!”  
“No, Dorian, we are not,” said Solas, holding up the book he sought.  
“Known translocation methods? Really, Mareno? His theories are—”  
“I don’t care about his theory, I need to know where the surviving eluvians are.”  
“But they’ve been lost or destroyed for generations, Solas—”  
“Which will make finding the surviving ones easier. Corypheus most likely has the same means and information that we do. Otherwise he’d already have found what he sought. If he can find it, then we can too. The library in Montsimmard will be the most likely place.”  
“Orlais? Surely Tevinter would be more likely. Or Rivain. The Circle’s in shambles, whatever is left—”  
“Orlais is our best chance. We’ll have to ask Morrigan for her aid.”  
“Why— never mind. I assume that means you want me to persuade Morrigan?”  
“That would be helpful.” He avoided Iron Bull’s stare. He had no good reason ready about Orlais except the truth, and he could hardly tell either that he had been the one to wrest the eluvian network from Briala. Not yet. It was Cole that saved him from a lie. That time.

The boy wandered in holding up a small amulet. The Inquisitor was with him. “What do I do with it?” he asked.  
“Ah, you found one, excellent,” said Solas, glad of the interruption. “May I?”  
Cole dropped the necklace carefully into his palm. He unfastened it and draped it gently around the boy’s neck. “Now all we have to do is charge it for the enchantment to take effect.”  
“Are you certain this is what you wish, Cole?” asked the Inquisitor.  
The boy nodded. “They can’t make me a monster,” he said. Solas focused a thin trickle of power into the amulet but it sizzled and cracked and Cole cried out.

“You okay kid?” asked Iron Bull, catching him as he stumbled.  
“That was— odd,” said Dorian.  
“What was that?” called Varric from the doorway.  
“We were trying to stop me from being bound like the Wardens,” said Cole, “but it didn’t work.”  
Solas shook his head and examined the amulet. “Something is interfering with the enchantment.”  
“I _told_ you,” said Varric, “Cole isn’t a demon.”  
He sighed. “Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he is _not_ human.”  
“You don’t know th—”  
“It doesn’t matter what I am!” cried the boy, “The spell _wants_ to work. It’s trying. But it is— wrong.”  
“Wrong as in the wrong type of spell? Or that it’s trying to harm you?” asked Dorian.  
“No— the wrong shape. Like it was meant to fit something different. Or like it’s snagged on a long branch…” he trailed off and then turned toward the door. “The thread goes that way,” he said, pointing.

The Inquisitor glanced at Solas in confusion. He shook his head and shrugged. “We’ll find it, Cole, whatever it is,” she said.  
“Maybe he can narrow it down with the war map,” suggested Varric.  
“I’ll see if I can help,” said Dorian, steering Cole by the shoulder.

It struck Solas as slightly ironic that Varric waited until they had gone before speaking. Cole did not need to hear the words to know how Varric thought of him.  
“He’s trying to be a person, Solas. Let him,” he said.  
“Should we encourage him to struggle for something that can never be? It seems cruel. We cannot change our natures no matter how we may wish to.”  
Varric crossed his arms. “You don’t think? Surprising from a man who has decided to change his own.”  
A burning sense of shame bloomed inside him and he was about to protest, but then the Inquisitor’s fingertips met his own, a cool brush of reassurance. A reminder that she loved him as he was, even as he struggled to be better.

“Whatever Cole is, whatever he will become in the future— it’s for _him_ to decide, is it not?” she asked gently. “And he is in some kind of trouble. Whether he’s really sensing some danger or he’s just remembering something long shut away— we have to help him.”  
Varric shook his head. “All right, fair enough. But I don’t think this question is just going to disappear, Inquisitor. Whatever we find at the end of this thread of his— I don’t think it’s going to be good.”  
“Agreed,” said Solas, “It might be for the best if we are the only ones who know of it. I would shield him from the reactions of the others, if we can.”  
“Can you both be ready to depart in the morning? I don’t know how long we will be gone, or how far, but I think the sooner Cole can address this, the better.”

As it turned out, it was not far at all. The Inquisitor had avoided Redcliffe since the defeat of Alexius, though she seemed unsurprised as Cole led them back to the small village. She appeared relatively calm, though he knew it was for Cole’s sake, swapping stories and jokes with Varric even as they arrived at the gate. But where Solas had found the idea of attempting to hide their worry from Cole slightly amusing a day before, now it made his affection for all of them still stronger. Cole was blessedly silent, not challenging the fragile act, and he thought the boy might be comforted by it.

“It’s very close— a huge snarled knot,” said Cole as they rounded the hill behind the tavern.  
It was not a string, but a man. Worn and suspicious. He had barely turned toward them when Cole gasped.  
“ _You_ ,” he cried, and was gone in a burst of smoke before Solas had time to reach for him. The templar was on his knees and Cole towered over him, his dagger twinkling in the afternoon sun. “You killed me!” he said.  
The templar shook his head. “What? I don’t even know you—”  
“Cole,” called the Inquisitor, and the boy hesitated, drew back an inch.

Solas let his eyes slide closed. Cole was stronger than he. She’d called out to him, once, and he hadn’t turned back from his revenge— but the boy, the boy might.  
“You forgot,” snarled Cole, still turned away from them, still wholly consumed with the templar, “You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire and you forgot. And then I died in the dark.”  
The templar shook his head.  
“Cole, stop,” said Solas, adding his weight to the Inquisitor’s plea. And the boy did. Let the templar sprint away and turned back to his friends. Varric let out a deep breath of relief and moved to stop Cole from chasing the man.  
“Just take it easy, kid,” he said, pressing a hand against the boy’s shoulder.  
Cole shook his head and his expression grew even darker. “But he killed me. That’s why it doesn’t work, that’s the knot. He killed me and I have to kill him back,” he shouted.  
“I _believe_ you, Cole,” said the Inquisitor, trying to catch his gaze with her own, “but I don’t understand. How are you here? What happened?”  
Solas shook his head. “Cole, this man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit, you haven’t even possessed a body.”  
“I _did_ ,” cried Cole, “A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate.”

“Shit,” breathed Varric.  
The Inquisitor touched his arm and he turned toward her, almost pleading. “They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him and he starved to death.” Cole gripped his sides as if he could feel the aching want, even then.  
_Worse and ever worse. It just goes on, the pain, the powerlessness. Enacted over generations instead of one long lifetime. The faces change and that is all. Nothing gets better,_ thought Solas. _How did you get dragged into this mire, Cole?_  
The boy faced him, as if he’d heard. Of course, he had. “I came to help. But I couldn’t.”  
Solas nodded his understanding.  
“So I became him,” continued Cole. “It was all that I could do.”  
“And that man was a guard?” asked Varric.  
“Yes. Let me kill him. I _need_ to.” He walked off, pacing back and forth, staring in the direction the man had fled.

“We cannot let Cole kill him,” Solas protested.  
“I don’t think anyone was going to suggest _that_ , Chuckles,” muttered Varric.  
“Cole is a spirit of compassion. Because he could not help the boy as he wished, he has been twisted from his true purpose. If we push him farther, he really _will_ become a demon. He must forgive the man so that he can become himself again.”  
“Come on, you don’t just forgive someone _killing_ you,” said Varric, “he’s angry. And he needs to work through it, not push it aside.”  
“Spirits don’t work through emotions, they embody them—”  
“But he’s _not_ just a spirit, not anymore. He’s made himself human. And humans can heal. Get stronger. He’s not going to turn into a demon, he’s just going to change. Become more of _this_ world. Where he chooses to be.”  
Solas shook his head. “You’ll alter the very essence of him.”  
“It’s not _me_ , Solas. He did it himself when he left the Fade. I’m just trying to help him cope with what that means.”  
“This is not a choice that we can make,” said the Inquisitor. She walked over to Cole before Solas could protest.

“Cole,” she said and he snapped around to face her, but she did not flinch. “You said you came from the Fade to help. You have helped many people since you’ve been here. Soothed hurts, mended friendships, cheered the despairing— but this man— he is not a templar any more. He has no charges. He is without purpose. Only his regrets and his need for lyrium remain. He is a danger to none except himself. If you kill him, who will it help?”  
He hesitated.  
“It will not help Cole, the boy you tried to aid. He is gone, long ago. The cares of this world, the pain of it, is long behind him. This man’s death will not erase what he has done. It will not give Cole back what he has lost. And it would not help you. It will not make the hurt at Cole’s death fade or give you any more ability to help others.”  
“Then— what do I do? It is— unjust to just let him go. And cruel to kill him, though I wish to— why do I wish to?”  
“Because he did something that hurt you,” said Varric, “It’s normal. We all want to lash out at things that hurt. But it doesn’t make you feel better, though you think it will. But look at him, _really_ look. He has harmed himself, too. He must carry what he has done as well. He is alone, without friends, without his order, just hanging on. Isn’t that vengeance enough?”  
“He is _hurting_ , Cole, for years now,” said Solas. “Sometimes justice must yield to mercy. He could be better. He could be whole again. So could you. He could help others, if you helped him first. You are a spirit of compassion. How much is enough?”  
The boy looked after the man, undecided. They waited.

“We cannot make this choice for you, Cole. But we are your friends. Whatever your decision, we will remain. Whoever you wish to be— we will love you as you are,” said the Inquisitor.  
Cole slid his daggers from his belt and held them in his hands, as if he were testing their weight. Then he handed them gently to the Inquisitor and strode off after the man.  
It was not a long wait. Cole appeared at the edge of the hill before sunset, the brim of his hat hiding his face from them.  
“Are you okay, kid?” asked Varric when he reached them.  
“Yes,” said the boy, “But I would like to go home now.”

Varric and the Inquisitor exchanged a worried glance.

“I am well,” said Cole, “do not be sad.” He lifted his head and a breeze lifted the brim of his hat so they could see him. “I am glad that you stayed. That you helped. That you will be ‘quarreling about fixing things to the very end.’ Thank you, all of you.”  
Varric nudged him with an elbow. “Come on, kid. Let’s go home. We’ve got lots more helping to do.”

“Why are you worried, Vhenan?” he asked, watching her over the flames of the campfire. She stabbed a stick into the fire.  
“I’m not certain that I said the right things today.”  
“We did a _good_ thing today, Inquisitor. Maybe the best thing we've done in this entire mess. And you were right— he had to choose for himself,” said Varric.  
“And the amulet? Have we protected him?”  
Solas glanced over to where Cole was talking with the scouts. The gem at his throat pulsed and sparkled, but he could not tell if it was from the enchantment or the torchlight. Varric shrugged. “If he’s human, he doesn’t need it, right?”  
“I suppose that’s true,” said the Inquisitor.  
“And if he’s returned to himself," Solas said, "then the enchantment should be working. You can rest easy. Cole is safe.”  
Varric stared over at the boy. “Just wish I knew what he chose. I don’t know how he wants me to talk to him anymore.”  
“Perhaps you should ask him,” said Solas, “though I’d guess that he is keeping his choice to himself in order to keep our dynamic from changing. He likes the way you talk to him.”  
“Okay— but what happens to him after all this? Where does he go? What does he do?”  
Solas laughed. “ _That_ is what worries you, Varric? What happens to any of us? He will do as he chooses and go where he is wanted. Probably he will return to where he came from, just as we all will.”

They fell silent for a moment. “Somehow, Chuckles,” sighed Varric at last, “I don’t think that’s true for any of us.” He looked up and Solas felt a tense shudder pulse through him as Varric said, “Sometimes what happens is so large, there _is_ no going back. Or when you _get_ back, you find too much has changed, either in the place or in yourself, to ever really belong again.”  
“Then— Cole, or any of us, will find a home together. A new place to go back to,” said the Inquisitor. “My aravel will always be available,” she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always really bothered me that someone else chose for Cole. It seems such a violation. So.


	52. Vir Sulevanin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxdKYcpGpFo

Morrigan was prowling the rotunda when he entered. He wasn’t certain what it was that set him on edge, except for the fairly unsurprising warning from Dorian he had no reason to suspect her of anything. But there it was. Something about her made his hackles rise. He fought it, thinking of the Inquisitor. Of how he’d promised himself to be better with them all.

  
“Good morning, Morrigan,” he said, crossing to his desk.  
“Dorian tells me that you expect me to find a missing eluvian.”  
He didn’t bother looking up from the piles of work that waited for him. “I would ask for your assistance. I don’t _expect_ anything. You _did_ join us in order to help, did you not?”  
She ignored the question. “Why me, specifically? Why not Madame de Fer? She has far more influence over the College than I.”  
“Indeed. She perhaps has too much influence. She’d word a request for information about ancient savage elvhen magic in such a way that no one would bother to seek it out. Yet—” He stared at her, “I have heard rumor of an active network in Orlais. Someone in Val Royeaux must know the location of remaining mirrors.”

“Your rumors are outdated. The Orlesian eluvians are lost. To something very powerful. I have been unable to retake them by any means.” She waited, but he did not react. “Interesting. I would have imagined something like the raw panic that Dorian exhibited when I told him. But perhaps you know more about who holds their key than I.”  
“And what made Dorian panic?” he asked evenly.  
“The idea that it was Corypheus who had taken them. Why doesn’t that strike you as likely?”  
“Because, Morrigan, if Corypheus had found an eluvian he could use, we would already be dead.”

She stared at him for a long moment. He grew tired of the game. It was going nowhere. She had no idea who he was and never would. She was more lost in myth than even the Dalish.  
“Can I expect your assistance with the College? Or should I pen the letter myself?”  
She bowed her head. “I am pleased to assist the Inquisition, as always. Good morning, Solas.” She slipped out and he all but forgot her, attempting to sketch a map of the crossroads from memory. No one but he would know what it was, but he still passed a hand over the parchment to hide it with a spell when Cole entered.

“You _promised_ ,” said the boy, keeping his voice soft, “No more myths. Nothing false.”  
Solas sighed and reversed the spell. “I _am_ trying. It is a long habit, hard earned. I am telling her what I can.”  
“Then why aren’t you sliding through the silver? You wait and Corypheus does not.”  
“The eluvian that was here was taken long ago. The closest one is in Val Royeaux. And the people that guard it will be doubly cautious now, though it can no longer serve them. How shall I reach one?”

The boy tilted his head, listening. “You have convinced Morrigan. She will bring her own. Here, to Skyhold.”  
That was not what he was expecting. “Morrigan has an eluvian?”  
“She needs it, Solas. Do not take it from her. You can shut it off from the others, she will not care. It is her sanctuary, her place to hide. She doesn’t want to go through, just _in_. Let her keep it.”  
Solas thought for a moment. “Who is she hiding from?”  
“Her mother,” said Cole casually. He dropped onto the desk and leaned close. “Mythal,” he whispered. Solas started.

“Her mother is Mythal?”  
“What remains of her. I know you swore a promise. Heavy, so heavy. But Morrigan is not her enemy. She hides, but she does not need to. Mythal knows how to find her. But she waits, hoping her daughter’s heart will change. She would not take what is not given. She swore a promise to you, too. To freedom. And she would not betray it, though she thinks you are gone. With the others.”  
“I will not take the eluvian from her. But I may need to use it—”  
Cole shook his head. “Morrigan will find it. I will help her.”  
He hesitated. It would mean her wandering around the crossroads. But she had said she had tried and failed to wrench the Orlesian eluvians from him. He did not think she was lying about that. “Very well, Cole. If you have need of me—”  
“I will ask. You are running out of time, Solas. You must tell the Inquisitor. Before—” Cole broke off.  
“Before what?” he asked sharply. “Is she in danger? Is it the anchor?”  
Cole shook his head. “No. She is not hurt. But it is not my secret to tell. It is a past hurt, but it will be like losing a limb. To her, especially. He does not mean to betray her. But he must betray someone to make it right. And she will survive better than the other.”  
“Cole who are you—”  
“Hurry, Solas,” he said and blinked out.

The Inquisitor was wandering slowly from the Herald’s Rest when he found her. She was lost in thought and he touched her hand to bring her back.  
“Oh!” she broke into a bright smile, “I’m sorry, emma lath, did you need me?”  
“Every moment,” he said. “But I only came to ask if you wished to escape for a few hours. It can wait, if you have something pressing though.”  
“No,” she shook her head, “Blackwall was just— he’s not himself since Adamant. And just now— I thought he wished to tell me something, but he stopped short. I think.”  
“Would it help if I went to see him?”  
“I think— I think he needs some time to himself. Just for an hour or two. Maybe he will decide to tell me then.” He saw her shut it away, whatever Blackwall had said. Or hadn’t. He felt a flicker of unease. Was this what Cole had meant? But it vanished as she turned her attention wholly to himself. “Where are we escaping to today?”  
“Not very far in place. But centuries removed from us, still.” He held out a hand to her and she accepted without hesitation.

She was so changed from their first days. Or he was. He could never be entirely certain. She did not quail at the unknown, but then, that hadn’t been her fear in the beginning, but _his_. She no longer doubted herself, or— it was not visible. But then, he reasoned, perhaps she would have ended just so among her clan as well. She had just been pushed to it a little faster. He shook himself, and pulled her across the training yard. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as they entered the chill of the dungeons.

“Here?” she asked. “Solas, it’s sweet of you to try and re-enact our first meeting, but I don’t really feel like taking a nap right now.”  
He laughed and it echoed across the stone. “No. I am far happier to have you conscious and free. I would not relive those days. We have not reached our destination yet.”  
“But— where can we go from here?”  
“You will see, but we must be silent now, I’ve no wish to disturb the guard.”  
“For the guard’s sake or ours?” she whispered. He pressed a finger to his lips and smiled. They crept past the napping guard and the empty cells until they came to the deep chasm at the edge of the dungeon. He pulled her into his arms.

“A leap, Vhenan, but no harm will come to you. Will you trust me?” he whispered into her ear.  
“Always,” she said and her eyes slid closed as her hold on him tightened. He smiled and stepped from the edge, plunging into the cold dark.  
A quick fade step brought them to the entrance of the cavern. The great carven pillars had cracked and shifted, but they stood there still. Solas untwined an arm from her to light the torches on either side. There, in veilfire, unfaded, unbroken even as the stones around it crumbled away, was the old inscription.

“Here we are free,” read the Inquisitor. “What is this place?”  
“The roots of Tarasyl'an Te'las. It has been the home of many peoples. But this place— I hope it will be familiar. But I will need your aid. If you are willing. It takes more magic than I have alone.” A lie, and yet, not. It took the mark and his presence both. It was a small lie, and at the same time, the entirety of them all. But this place would keep her safe, if she would use it. He was ready to let her believe anything in return for that.  
“Of course— what do I do?”

He placed her hand gently on the stone door and then pressed his own over it, threading his fingers in the spaces between her own. “Just like closing a rift,” he said, smiling at her. She nodded and her face took on the intensity he so loved. He could feel the magic of the anchor pulsing below his palm, mingling with his own, and he felt whole. Home. But there was more, now, her own magic, too. With her, he was more than he had been, even diminished as he was. And for a moment, he could not regret the anchor. He did not wish to reverse the accident that had printed him within her. If only it did not mean her death, he would happily have handed that power to her in the space of a breath. He would have refused its return if it meant he must keep her near, must bend to her whim to get what he needed.

  
The door swung open and they stumbled at the sudden give. He landed next to her in the dark, banging his head on the smooth stone tile. _The great Fen’harel tripping over his own threshold._ He laughed softly.  
“Are you well, emma lath?” her voice floated gently over him and he felt her hand fluttering, seeking him. _How terrible must the Dread Wolf appear now? Lying dusty in the dark, his own stones grown unfamiliar._ He laughed harder, half of him torn between relief at finally being home again and half in suppressed grief that the woman beside him would not know it as home, not for some time. Another ball of veilfire appeared above him and she was hovering over him, her fingers already gliding over his head, checking for lumps.

“I am fine, Vhenan,” he said, still laughing. “We do nothing by half, you and I. We cannot even open a door without risking destruction.”  
She matched his smile and helped him up. “And yet, we come out whole each time. We must be blessed. Or cursed.”  
“Then let us stay cursed. I will not seek its reversal if you will stay whole forever with me.” He brushed a cobweb from her hair.  
It was her turn to laugh. “Forever is a long time.”  
“Not long enough.”

He tipped the veilfire from her hand into a sconce above her head, one he remembered without looking. It blazed up, arced over them, sliding like water through a channel along the ceiling and walls. She gasped in wonder at the silver-blue tree of light spreading around them. He had not done it. He wished now that he had, but then she would have known. There’d have been no denying it. His study was long gone, it’s ruins plundered ages ago. Otherwise— what might his paintings have done, while his tongue sat leaden in his mouth?

She took a step forward, her fingers grazing the shallow carved leaves that adorned the tree. Thousands of them. Thousands upon thousands. And still not enough. A record of his greatest unfinished work, left by his people. A gift. One he had reluctantly accepted because Wisdom had told him it was as much for themselves as for him.  
“These are names,” she said. “But who did they belong to?”  
“Names are so easily lost, Vhenan,” he said, his fingers trailing beside hers, his eyes filled with old words. So old that even _he_ had trouble matching them to the vast library of bare faces in his mind. He looked over at her. How he wished her name was among them. How he wished he could give her what he had given each of them.

“Someone must have loved them very much, to collect them here,” she said stepping farther into the huge space and turning to look.  
“Yes. Someone loved them very much, indeed,” he said, and took a moment to close his eyes and wish they had each met peaceful ends.

“How did you find this place?” she asked. And there it was. Another chance to tell her. A perfect moment to let it spill from him in a torrent instead of the trickle she pulled from him daily. She turned back toward him, and the awe in her dashed any thought of it from his mind.  
“I have known of it for a long while. It was waiting to be found.” He took a step toward her. “It wants to be found. Given time and a moment’s peace, you would have found it as well.”  
She shook her head. “I would have brushed it aside as an impossible door. I would not have known how to open this place.”  
He closed the small space between them, reaching for her hands. “If you had the reasons that I did, you would have found the way.”  
“What reason is that?”  
“There are a hundred forts within easy distance of Haven, some in better repair than Skyhold. But I wanted us to come here. Have you felt it, Vhenan? What makes this place unique?”  
“Morrigan told me it was sacred once, that its magic had been here so long it had seeped into its very bones. That it was safe against darkness.”  
Solas fought a frown. “I don’t know that it was holy, Vhenan. Not that I have seen. But magic— yes.” He tilted his head, following the sweeping branches of the massive veilfire tree. “A thousand times a thousand spells of protection. One for each name. More. This place is safe. It will stand longer than any other against the very worst the world can throw at it.” He looked at her again, traced the vallaslin across her face with his fingers. “It is— it is a _boat_ , my love. _Your_ boat.”

He paused to be certain she understood. She looked around them. “And yours?”  
He was still for a long, long moment. “I am uncertain,” he said at last.  
“Then— it is not mine either. I may use it, for others. We could fit many people in Skyhold.”  
“But not the world.” He tipped his forehead against hers. “I know the day may come that there are too many to save. And I know you will give up your place for the sake of another. I _know_. Because I’ve grown to know you. But let me believe— let me think of you here. Safe among a million spells of peace and care. Give me this one thing— this one terrible, selfish thing, Vhenan.” _Lie to me_ , he willed her. “If ever I ask you to come here, to this place—”  
“Without you?” She was already shaking her head.  
“Tell me something,” he said, remembering her own plea, “The truth, a lie, a story. Tell me something I can believe.”

She sank down to the dusty floor, pulling him after her. She thought for a long moment in silence. “Do you know the story of Erani and Haninan?” she asked, pushing him gently to his back.  
“No, I have not heard it.”

She followed, lying beside him, her arms pillowing her head. She looked up at the web of veilfire branches above them. “It is the story of my clan. Old, mostly forgotten by others. Haninan was the son of a lord. One of the Keepers of the Dales, before the wandering. Erani was a healer in the Keeper’s land. A skilled healer. The people whispered that she had been blessed by Sylaise, and she believed it. So devoted was she to this belief, that she swore herself to the way of peace and vowed never to raise a hand in anger, lest she lose her power to heal. They had little occasion to meet, Haninan and Erani, for sickness was rare in those days and Haninan was a spoiled child, kept safe from every injury and peril by the lord. But children grow up— and away. And when Haninan became a man, he developed a love for hunting. One day, he was gored by the boar he hunted. His wounds were severe and his friends panicked. On top of their love of him, the death of his only son would enrage the lord. It would mean their lives as well. But one had heard of Erani, and they brought Haninan to her for aid.

"She worked hard and swiftly, but still Haninan faded. She pleaded to Sylaise deep into the night—” The Inquisitor paused, and he heard the catch in her throat as she said, “ _something_ heard, for Haninan began to heal under her hands.”

He shifted to his side and turned her face toward himself so that he could look at her. “I am well,” she said with a weak smile. “But Haninan would take many days to heal, and his friends left him in Erani’s care so that they could go to his father with the news. When Haninan woke, he watched Erani a long while. Her gentle care of him, and the others that came to her as he lay helpless in her home. She told him many stories as he lay there, to keep his mind from the agony. Quiet stories. Unlike the ones in his father’s hall. Stories of loving, happy lives instead of the battle stories of blood and glory. And he grew to love her in those short weeks—”

He laughed softly. “It is always so in your stories. Does no one take their time in love?”  
She smiled. “Hush. Who is telling the story? Besides, if it took as long as you and I then we would be lying on this floor until next year before I finished.”  
“I would not object to that.”  
“But the rest of the world might.”  
“Fair enough. So Haninan fell in love with Erani, and Erani, I presume, fell in love with Haninan?”

“Not at first. Haninan was arrogant. He had been so petted and loved in his father’s house that he knew no better. His father sought to move him to his own home as soon as it was safe, insisting that Erani join them. She agreed and rode with Haninan in his litter. Among his own riches and friends again, Haninan grew bold. ‘Why have you done this? Do you intend to claim vir sulevanin? I could give you wealth and power, if that is what you wish in return for your services.’

"Erani was horrified. ‘I do not heal for that. Healing is not labor, but joy. I would not claim vir sulevanin for it.’ Haninan thought for a moment. But since love was uppermost in his mind, he assumed it must be so in hers. ‘If not riches, perhaps you seek a kiss then?’ He tried to sit up, but she pushed him gently back down. She wanted to laugh, but Erani was kind and did not seek to shame him. ‘You are in no shape for kisses,’ she warned, ‘and any kiss I accepted would be freely given, not exchanged for something. I do not expect any return for the healing except your own good health, Haninan.’ He frowned. He was not used to rejection. He thought long on it. But he was a good man, and any anger he had turned inward toward himself.

"Erani stayed in his father’s hall for many months. Long past when Haninan needed her aid. But there was always some injury to mend among the household, some baby to birth. And when there was not, Haninan made certain to have an accident, just to keep her a little longer.”

  
Solas shook his head with a smile. A slow grin of her own spread over her face. “Poor fool, you think, but have you done nothing foolish for love?” she asked.  
He pulled her close. “So many, many things. And I regret none of them,” he said. “But hurting himself would only make her delay her departure, not love him. He must have done more to court her.”

“Yes,” she answered, “He sought out what she loved. He had a garden of healing herbs planted outside her rooms, traveling miles and miles to search out exotic seeds. He bribed the storyteller to find gentle tales, ones without war, so Haninan could whisper them to Erani whenever he found her. He sewed the bandages she used with his own hand, adding tiny messages in red thread to the inside, so only she would see. And Erani grew to love him. Desperately. But Haninan’s father did not approve. His son was meant for a fine lady, not a healer with worn hands and a humble hut in the forest. He warned Erani off. And Erani _tried_ to obey. But Haninan persisted.

"There was an assassin in the hall. The servant of a powerful rival lord. He waited many years, moving slowly up through the ranks of Haninan’s father’s men, until he became the lord’s closest adviser. And when Haninan’s father made to move against his rival, the assassin prepared to fulfill his purpose, to eliminate the lord and all of his heirs. But Erani discovered him. He was poisoning the wine in the kitchens. It was late in the evening, almost all the other servants already retired, but the lord’s court were still in revelry. So she was alone with the assassin and what she saw. ‘Say nothing,’ said the man, ‘and I will let you live. You owe this family nothing. They have taken you from your home to serve at their whim and offer you pittance in return. What do you care if they die? You would be free. And all the riches of the castle would be yours. I care not for them, nor does my employer.’ Erani shook her head.

"‘You cannot do this. These people have been good to you. They have trusted you and shown you kindness. Turn aside from this. I will never tell. You can stay, belong among them—’ But the man shoved her aside.  
‘Enough. You do not know my master.’ He walked to the door with the deadly wine bottle. Erani grabbed it, trying to pull it away, but the assassin pulled out his dagger and tried to press her back. She would not let go, though the knife slid into her side. They tumbled through the kitchen door and fell to the throne room floor in front of everyone. Haninan called out to her, seeing the blood, and ran to help.  
‘Stop!’ cried Haninan’s father, just as the wine bottle dashed to the floor, splintering and splashing the poisoned wine across the flagstones.  
‘Now I must do it the hard way,’ hissed the assassin above her, ‘and your precious Haninan will die in immense pain.’ There was a wicked twist of broken bottle by Erani’s hip. She clutched it in one hand. But still, the vir atishan called to her. It would mean the end of her healing. The end of everything she’d sworn. She turned her head to see Haninan, tears streaming down his face as his father held him back from aiding her. She raised the glass shard in a quick jab and dragged it through the assassin’s gut and it broke as it hit his chest. He breathed a gurgling breath and fell and the guards leapt upon Erani. They hauled her up.

"‘Traitor!’ cried Haninan’s father, ‘I kept you in my home for months, gave you everything you wished, and you repay me by slaughtering my most trusted adviser? In my own hall, no less?’ Erani looked at Haninan. She knew nothing would convince the father that she had been trying to help. She reached behind her and picked up a goblet from the table without speaking. She bent forward and scooped up the poisoned wine from the puddle on the floor.  
‘Haninan,’ she said quietly, ‘spindleweed, if you wish.’ She turned to the father. ‘I claim vir sulevanin.’ And she drank the wine until it ran down her chin in a red trickle. She fell, and Haninan understood, racing away to her garden for the antidote. When Erani awoke, Haninan was beside her. He was as patient with her as she had been with him. The father summoned her for an audience, and she arrived with him beside her. The father was not pleased, but he remembered what he owed and held his tongue on the subject.  
‘Erani,’ he said, ‘you have done me a great service. I would be pleased to offer you a permanent place among my household. You will never want for anything and you will be able to practice your healing as much or as little as you please. We will protect you from the vengeance of our rivals.’ Erani shook her head.  
‘I cannot stay here.’ She looked sadly down at her own hands. ‘I will never heal again. I put aside the vir atishan for your sake, I gave up my ability to heal in order to save you.’ The father was distressed.  
‘Then what would you have, Erani? You may live in comfortable retirement here, fine food, fine clothing, deep rest, you may have it all. What would you have? You have only to name it.’ Erani reached for her beloved’s hand.  
‘Haninan,’ she said, and Haninan thought his heart would burst with joy.  
‘No,’ said the father, ‘I will not allow that. You press my generosity too far.’ Erani did not release Haninan’s hand.  
‘I do not need your generosity. I claim vir sulevanin. The only voice that would dissuade me is your son’s.’ But Haninan stayed silent. And Erani led him away from his father’s hall, into the deep forest and out of the realm. And so, Clan Lavellan began. And with it, the wandering.” The Inquisitor reached out to brush his cheek with her fingers.

“I will give you this promise, Solas, but I will claim vir sulevanin to save you as well. A gift for a gift, emma lath. You are all that I want, whether we are safe in our— our boat or standing beneath the dam when the flood comes. Think upon it, fanor, and when you are certain, ask me again.”  
“It is enough,” he decided. “Thank you. I will ask you again some day, no matter the price. For now— I am content that you know of this place.” He kissed her and felt himself already drowning.


	53. Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fV8XwoIGo5M&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=36

“Enough,” she said, as they broke apart, and it was hoarse and rough.  
“Enough?” asked Solas, “Enough of what? Kisses?”  
“No. Never enough kisses.” She pushed him back from her though, even as she said it. “Enough worry. Enough sorrow and silence and waiting for everything to crumble around us.”

  
He let himself slide to his back, folding his hands together over his chest. She was a shadow against the veilfire over him. “Stop checking for cracks, Solas,” she breathed against his cheek.  
“I _can’t_.”  
“Has it really gotten so bad, this thing that threatens to fall upon us? In so short a time?” She slid a hand beneath his head, soft and warm after the cold floor.  
“No. No, it has gotten no worse. Not really.”  
“Then why can’t you put it aside, just for now? For your own peace?”

He reached for her, his hand tracing the sharp curve of her collarbone. “Because there is so much more to lose now.”  
Her shade shook its head. “But if you are constantly worrying about losing something, you will never take the time to enjoy it while you have it. I’m _here_. And, oh, I _miss_ you. If only I had Cole’s gift.”  
“Cole’s gift?”  
“Yes. Then I could make you forget everything else, just for a time.”  
“That is unlike you. It is hardly responsible.”  
“Worrying won’t solve the problem, or we’d have fixed the entire world by now, just the two of us. We are doing what we can, we need not heap misery upon ourselves in addition. Who does that help?”  
“You are right, Vhenan. I know that. And yet— I cannot seem to let go.” He sat up slowly, pulling her with him.

“There are times that you do, I have seen it.” Her face was tilted up now, to look at him, the shimmer of the veilfire soaking into her, limning the edges of her ears, the soft moons of her cheeks. She was right. She was here, with him, in his home. It ought to have filled him with joy. Not dread.  
“Someday, it will be too much,” he said, “This. One moment I burn with happiness to touch you, to speak with you, to see your smile. The next I am leaden with dread. And the next I swing back again. It is like a stone heated and cooled too quickly. Someday it will shatter—”  
“Solas, if you shatter then I will put you back together. Every time. But I don’t think you are like a stone. Steel instead, perhaps. The burning will make you stronger— I just must keep you so. Let me help.”  
“How?”  
“You think I have been idle? The stories, the veilfire, dreams and touch and bloody roofs—” She shook her head, but then smiled. “It makes me glad to tell you how I love you, in every language. Until you hear. Until you know. What is it you told me? It is a lover’s duty to show her love the best parts of himself. All the things he’s forgotten, all the beauty no one else is privileged to see. Over and over and over. Every day. I will find a way to make you hear me.” She lifted up on her knees, coming even with him. She stared at him a long moment, and seemed to gather herself for something. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips to the edge of his jaw, just where he had kissed her so often. He let out a shaky breath.

“Yes,” she said, “that is as I thought.” Her breath was warm and humid against his skin, living, roiling steam pressing into him. “I believe we had a game to continue, one that I have not had my turn at.”  
“I have no wish to push you away, my love,” he said, pulling her closer to him even as he spoke, “but I’m not certain this is the best—”  
“I know you have not told me all, but I cannot believe you have anything left that is worse than the impending end of the world— which we must, and _will_ , prevent.”  
“What I am is—” he sucked in a gasp as she pressed another soft kiss against his earlobe.  
“What you _are_ is kind and passionate and loving. What you are is Solas. Mine. What you’ve been— it matters, but it will not alter this. You could be one of the Forgotten Ones themselves, and it would not change my heart.”  
“You don’t know that—”  
“I _do_.” She retreated, but only far enough to meet his eyes. “I know because whatever you’ve been, whatever you’ve done— you are striving to be truly good _now_. This, now, this is the man that I know, this person you have chosen to be. For as long as you are— _you_ , this Solas that I know, I cannot feel otherwise. And maybe you will change. And I will lose you. But it is also true that I might change— should I live all my days in fear of betrayal?”  
“Yes,” he hissed, his hand tightening around her wrist, his resolve returning.

“ _No_. That is misery, Solas. Whatever you fear for me— it is too late, emma lath.” She pulled her arm gently from his grip, but only to join their hands equally. “I’m already utterly lost to you. Whether or not you touch me will not make the smallest difference.” She hesitated, and then released him, pulling herself inward, folding her hands in her lap. “But maybe it is not me you are protecting. Maybe you fear for yourself. I would honor that. I will not—” He swallowed her doubt, her breath, the pulse of startled magic that burst from her. He stopped, afraid he had hurt her.  
“Yes,” he said, his voice a ragged husk of a thing. He brushed a healing spell over her lips with one finger.  
“Yes?” she asked, and he could hear the surprise in her, wishing he could tell her he was just as shocked.  
“Yes. Help me, Vhenan, help me let go of this weight, please.”

She stood up and the cool air left in her wake made him feel bereft. But only for a moment, because she was holding her hand out to him, waiting for him. “Not here, Solas. I don’t know what this place is to you— I know this is not the first time you have seen it. I’m not blind. But whatever it is— it’s too much for this time. Later, I will be here with you later. After the end, if it is what you wish.”  
He rose and looked around with a soft tinge of regret. “And the floor is cold, emma lath,” she said with a soft smile.  
“Yes,” he laughed.  
“Ah,” she said, tracing his smile, “there you are. _Stay_.”  
“I will try,” he said.  
“You think this is not your natural state, you’ve convinced yourself it is not. But it’s only because it has been too long since you have allowed yourself happiness. It is here, standing before you, waiting in the tavern to tell you stories, whispering hidden things to the rafters, praying in the chantry, swearing and sweating in the training yard. All of us are waiting for you. You have only to let us in.”  
“And when it ends?”  
“There will be grief. There always is. But would there be less grief if you pushed us away? Even now?”  
“No. It would not be less.”  
“Then accept what has been so freely given.” She raised his palm to her lips and kissed it, her lashes brushing over his fingers. He shivered. “Three,” she said with a soft laugh, “I am winning, emma lath.”  
“How do you know where—” He stuttered into silence as she did it again. “You think you are the only one watching. But I am not as distracted as you think.” She stood on her toes to reach his throat. “You touch as you wished to be touched,” she said against the rough skin there. “Now, find us a way out. I wish to keep playing. I will find every one.”

  
He did not bother hiding his familiarity any longer, he did not see the point and she was so warm beside him. He would not waste more time pretending. Instead he led her through the dark passages at the far side of the veilfire tree, not even pausing to light the way. It had been many years since he had walked his halls, but his feet still knew the way. She held up her marked hand like a beacon and he kept the other tightly in his own. She was quiet and he glanced back at her some minutes into their ascent. It was not worry or doubt in her face, but intense thought. “Are you troubled?” he asked, but she shook her head, her lips moving in soundless words.  
“Learning the path,” she said after a moment. He turned back, pleased. _Good,_ he thought, _that is very good_. He moved more slowly to be certain she had time to memorize the turns. After a long climb, they reached a stone wall.

“The switch is here, Vhenan,” he said, guiding her hand in the dark. She pressed and the wall split in a widening seam of light. He squinted against it and led her out into her own quarters. He pushed aside a barrel in the small store room. “Here is its mate, should you need it,” he said and knelt beside the switch.  
“We will not, but I will remember anyhow,” she answered, crouching beside him. “Do the tunnels go elsewhere in the keep?”  
“Yes. The Undercroft, the throne room and the basement library. This one is newer— neither the tower nor the tunnel existed when the hall below was built.”  
“Yet you brought us here.” She did not hide her delight, but it brought heat to her face as well.  
“I thought it— the most expedient. And private.”  
“It was a long trip just to reach my bed,” she teased.  
He laughed. “Yes, well, perhaps I may use a shortcut in the future.”  
“Who said that I would let you lea—”

The store room door burst open. Cole was standing in the doorway, his hands over his eyes. “I’m sorry!” he cried, “Don’t be scary, Solas.”  
Solas frowned. He never meant to be frightening to the boy. “All is well, Cole,” he said, standing.  
“No,” said Cole, shaking his head, his eyes still covered, “It is not. Blackwall is gone.”  
The Inquisitor brushed past him and pulled Cole’s hands down. “Gone where? Is he in trouble, Cole?”  
“An old name burns inside armor that shouldn't fit, lit by faces of the children he couldn't save. And now the name will strangle someone else. He has to stop it. He is _sorry_ , Inquisitor. He belongs to others now. They will not be kind like you.”  
The Inquisitor turned toward Solas. “Do you understand better than I?” she asked.  
“Not this time. But maybe Blackwall left some hints of his own?”  
“Yes. I will find it, the missing thing. Blackwall didn’t mean to take it. It sat upon Josephine’s desk and his fingers lingered over them, playing, waiting. But then he _saw_. He took it so he could decide. Leliana will know what to do with it. You— you find the sad words. You find goodbye. In the barn. Among the toys. He wants you to take them. He knows you will find children. He always meant to ask. He is frightened of children now. Of himself.” Cole wrung his hands. Solas felt a creeping chill trickle up his neck at Cole's words.

“It’s all right, Cole, we’ll find him. We’ll help him if we can,” said the Inquisitor. Cole nodded and dashed away. “Ir abelas, emma lath,” she said, “this did not occur as I’d hoped.”  
He brushed the dust from her back with a smile. “It is not your fault. And I have apparently had a narrow escape. Though I can’t say imprisonment in your bed would be a hardship. It will keep. I will check his quarters, if you wish. Perhaps we can at least find out where he is headed, even if the rest remains a puzzle.”  
Her vallaslin bunched as her forehead wrinkled with worry. “Do not assume, Vhenan,” he warned, “Cole’s reasoning is far more complex than it seems. Don’t borrow trouble— it may all just be a misunderstanding. Hold onto your joy for now.”  
“Will you do the same?”  
“Yes. I will try.” He kissed her forehead, smoothed the worry away, just for a moment. She nodded and they headed off to find Blackwall.


	54. Rainier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfsS3pIDBfw

She returned from Val Royeaux without greeting him. Without seeing any of them. It was Cullen who had briefed them the following morning. Sera had been furious. She’d stormed out of the war room even as the commander tried to stop her.  
“I wouldn’t press it, Sera,” he’d said, “She’s held it together in public, but we’re home now. This hasn’t been easy for any of us.”  
“Yeah? It’s about to get harder.” She shoved him aside and gone to find the Inquisitor.

  
“No cleaning up this one,” said Iron Bull.  
“No,” agreed Cullen. “He seems resigned. He didn’t deny any of it. But it doesn’t sit easy with the Inquisitor. Or with me.”  
“Isn’t there any way to stop it? We pulled them out of a civil war, they owe us a favor or two,” said Varric.  
“But such a favor— if he were innocent, I’d agree. But he admits it. For us to demand his release would say the Inquisition operates outside the law. Worse— that we are willing to thwart justice. That is not the Inquisition I envisioned.” Cassandra frowned over the war table.  
“There’s a way. A bloody, dark way. She doesn’t want to take it. She sent them all away. The noose or the Joining. She knows now, what it meant,” muttered Cole.

Solas walked out of the war room without comment. He could hear Sera shouting before he’d even climbed half of the tower steps.  
“You can’t do this,” she yelled. He could not hear the response. “He’s our friend— he would have _died_ for you. Almost did, a half dozen times.” Again the silence as he reached the last landing. “So? It was a sodding nobleman. Probably deserved it. Probably beat his servants or starved em or—”  
“Is that the measure of a person’s life, Sera? Their wealth? For someone who thinks so ill of those with coin, I have not seen you shy away from your chance to earn some,” snapped the Inquisitor. Solas paused with his hand upon the door.

She was angry. Unkind. It was not an untrue statement, but one that she’d regret later, he knew. But now she’d started, she couldn’t let up. “And it wasn’t just the nobleman. His wife, his children— little ones who never beat or starved anyone. The servants that traveled with him— Blackwall had them all cut down. Not a single one armed. He lied to his men, betrayed his command. It was not to defend anyone. It was not to stop an injustice. It was not war or necessity that drove him to it. Just coin.”  
“He is not that way any more, Buckles!”  
“I _know_. And that is why this is so difficult.”

Solas opened the door and began climbing the last small flight into her rooms.  
“If I knew how to do it, I would help him, despite it all. I cannot regret his friendship. The Blackwall I know is decent and good. He is in this mess because he was trying to right his wrong. But my hands are tied.”  
“They aren’t. They _owe_ us. We’ve got nothing out of Orlais but gossip and meanness. Take him. Make Cullen march in and take him out.” Sera was a weeping, angry mess. He glanced at the Inquisitor, but her eyes were dry.  
“I could do that, Sera. But what would that mean? That any of us are beyond reproach? That rules and law don’t apply to us?”  
“Well, and why should they? We’re saving the world. We ought to get ours, too.”  
The Inquisitor shook her head. “If we want to save the world then we have to make it safe from anyone that could threaten it. That means us, too.”  
“Well, what if you asked pretty? You could do it, seen you. You were downright scary at the ball. Do it again.”  
“It is no different than marching in with soldiers. It still tells the people of Orlais that the Inquisition and not the crown is in charge.”  
“So?” asked Sera, rubbing her nose on her sleeve. “We could do better in Orlais than those nobs.”  
“Maybe, but the Inquisition will be gone soon, and then what would happen to Orlais? They have to believe that the government will not fall to civil war again or things won’t return to normal. I thought that’s what you wanted.”  
“Not if it means they get to hang Blackwall.”  
“And the people that he killed— weren’t they as beloved to someone else as Blackwall is to us?” asked Solas, handing Sera a handkerchief. She shrugged.  
“Hanging him won’t make it better,” she said at last.  
“No,” he agreed, “it seems a terrible waste when he is striving to atone.”  
“Ripping him out of prison and threatening the stability and sovereignty of an entire country doesn’t seem a good way to honor his efforts,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Then we’ll do it in secret. The Jennies or Leliana’s people—” said Sera.  
But the Inquisitor shook her head. “Everyone would know who was behind it. If we are to save Blackwall, it must be open and obvious, so there are no rumors.”

“You have a plan,” he said, already knowing what she intended.  
“You do?” Sera brightened. “Knew you were a brick.”  
“It is a terrible plan. I don’t even know if they’d agree to take him.”  
“They’ll agree. Especially in the aftermath of Adamant. Their ranks are decimated,” he said.  
“It isn’t much of a choice. Not knowing what could happen at the Joining.”  
“It was a choice he made long ago. And as loath as I am to admit it, better than offering him none at all, Vhenan.”  
“What are you yammering about?” asked Sera, beginning to grow suspicious.  
“Asking the Wardens to conscript Blackwall,” sighed the Inquisitor.  
“What you so down in the mouth for? That’s what he always wanted— oh. But you banished ‘em. Any Warden waltzing into Val Royeaux would be arrested on sight.” Her smile dropped away.  
“Not _any_   Warden,” said the Inquisitor slowly. “There are two that no one would dare arrest. But one is the king of a foreign nation and left that life long ago. The other— the other is missing.”  
“You mean the Hero of Ferelden,” said Sera. “ _Leliana’s_ Warden.”  
“I don’t think she is missing. I think we have a few friends who know _exactly_ where the Hero is. The trouble is convincing them to ask her,” said Solas.

The Inquisitor was silent a long moment. “I may ask, but she will not agree. Why would she ask her love to risk danger? We are not the threat, Corypheus is. Thus far, the Hero has resisted corruption. But what happens if she comes within his range?”  
“She would be forewarned. And Erimond is powerless now.”  
“Let me do it. I can convince Leliana,” said Sera. She glanced at Solas and then her gaze skated quickly away. “She owes me.”  
His skin prickled. What had Sera done for the spymistress?  
“If you think that you can, Sera, try, with my goodwill,” said the Inquisitor. Sera didn’t need to be asked twice, but darted away, much more hopeful than she’d been when he’d entered.

“If you came to tell me that you warned me, Solas, save it. I cannot fight with Blackwall, but I would not be able to resist with you if you pushed, though it would be unfair,” said the Inquisitor when they were alone, already bristling.  
“I am as unnerved as you, Vhenan. This was not something any of us foresaw. And I can never triumph in betrayal. I wish to be proven wrong. That he confronted his past in order to save another unjustly accused— it attests more to the truth of _your_ faith in him than in my doubt of others. I do not wish to argue with you. I mourn his fall as deeply as anyone.”  
“Even if this works— he cannot return to Skyhold.”  
“I know, my love.”  
“But Sera doesn’t.”  
“I think you underestimate her. Sera is clever. It is a blow to her— to us all, to lose him. It is sorrow and anger that make her demand you march on Val Royeaux, but when she is calm, she will understand why you cannot. And she will understand why Blackwall cannot return to fight beside us as he once did.”  
“What of the cost? You said the Joining could change him, if it doesn’t kill him.”

Solas sighed. “At least he knows now, what that cost is. He has seen Adamant, he has seen the effect of the Calling. Given the same choice, would I join the Wardens? No. But I don’t wish for everyone to choose as I do. Only that they truly have one.” He smiled and caught her hand. “How dull this world would be if everyone chose the same. And I would be a far worse man, witless and joyless and cruel, if I did not have you to always challenge me. You inspire everyone around you to be better, Blackwall included. His loss may sadden you, but do not let it shame you. He has chosen a better path because of his time in the Inquisition, regardless of where the path may end. You are, indeed, moving the world by inches, and his was an important one.”

She stared at him. “You’ve _changed_.”  
“Yes,” he laughed, “it is your doing.” His smile faded. “It is difficult— impossible, maybe, for me to push aside what Blackwall has done. The crime itself was dire enough, and then compounded with— never mind, that was not my point. My intent was to tell you that without you, it would have made up the whole of who Blackwall is to me. But now, I see that he is more than his past. That he has striven to _become_ more. It makes what will come far more tragic, but I cannot bring myself to regret knowing him.”

Sera was adept at hiding from him. He didn’t manage to get her alone until several days later. After the entire thing was concluded and Blackwall safely on his way to Weisshaupt in the company of the Hero. Leliana had taken the opportunity to go and meet her, otherwise Sera might have eluded him still longer. He had no doubt the other agents were warning her when he made any attempt to seek her out. He was angry, but not at Sera. Leliana had outplayed him. She knew he might act upon his threat with a stranger, but he would not harm Sera, not even for spying on the Inquisitor.

“I believed you were the Inquisitor’s friend,” he said, seeing her alone in the silent kitchen. She jumped and spun around.  
“I am. Told you.”  
“I also believed you knew when it was best to keep silent.”  
“Know that too. Haven’t said a word about—” she stopped and leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “About the Blight. I’ll have no truck with that, not even for the Nightingale. But she said the Inquisitor might need help. Might not ask. I hear things. You like Cole. He hears things, he helps. You aren’t hissing at him.”  
Solas brushed that observation aside. It wouldn’t help to argue with her. “What does Leliana want to know that she doesn’t get from the Inquisitor’s reports?”  
Sera shrugged. “If she goes places that she doesn’t say. Who she talks to. If she hides injuries. Who she beds.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Wasn’t me, Droopy, I swear,” she muttered through her fingers. “Told her we all sleep in one tent. No chance for that. But she already knew about you. Didn’t need _me_ for that, I wouldn’t— serious, Solas, I’d never—” She shrank away from him and Solas regretted her fear.

“How long?” he said instead.  
“The start. Didn’t know then, did I? The Inquisitor could’ve been anyone. Dalish. That was all. They don’t like us. Didn’t know she’d be different.”  
“Neither did I,” he admitted, with a rueful smile.  
“And Leliana— well she was Chantry, right? Not just a scolding sister either. Left Hand. And Cassandra on the right, saying the same. Two most powerful people in the world, maybe. And here’s me, in the middle.”  
He sank onto the bench. “The Seeker too?” It was a grievous blow.  
“At first. But she told me to stop after Haven. Told me she didn’t need to know. She trusts the Inquisitor. And Leliana said it was to protect her. That Buckles needed a friend to look out for her. Someone who cared more about her than about that glowy bit.”  
“And you believed that I cared more about the anchor than about her?” he asked.  
Sera flashed a grin and elbowed him. “Thought maybe you cared about the other bits more. You wouldn’t have been the only one. Other people did. I’ve seen ‘em look at her, and she never noticed. Or— maybe she pretended not to. Either way, thought someone should look out for her. But you never— knew you were alright when she got hurt or I’d have let you go ahead with Blackwall. I should’ve stopped then. Never told Leliana everything. Started telling her less. But she still asked. And it helped, didn’t it? Got Blackwall out of his trouble. And— and some of it’s _your_ fault, too.”  
“Mine?”  
“Yeah _yours_. All that blather about revolution and organizing and goals. Still wrong. Mostly. But Halamshiral—” She picked up one of the biscuits she’d been chewing. “Thought I did all this for other reasons. Coin. Food. Fun. I _like_ all that. But not alone. The fun bits never come that way. Started using things to help. Not to fix. Don’t like your idea of fixing. Just makes a mess, if you ask me. What Buckles said, about moving those people here— just taking them away so they couldn’t be hurt— it’s daft, isn’t it? But it’s brilliant too. Thought I could use things like that. Nothing about the Inquisitor. Nothing personal. Just ideas. Your pimple spray. Varric’s teaching me money. I mean, I _know_ money. Not like that. And Josephine— she’s got the Jennies out of some scrapes with stuff I heard at the ball. _Using_ it. The Inquisitor would understand.”  
“I think so. But perhaps you should ask her, if you wish to be certain.”  
“You going to snitch?”  
“No, Sera. I don’t believe you mean harm. Leliana either. I cannot keep the Inquisitor to myself, however I may wish to. And it would only make her more guarded if she knew, not safer. But if you see anyone else listening in or watching too closely—”  
“I’ll cut them down myself,” she said fiercely. He nodded.  
“I am glad she has you as a friend, Sera. I cannot imagine another as loyal.” He rose and gave her shoulder a parting squeeze as he left.

It left only the matter of the toys. Small things, light and pretty all lined up neatly upon the workbench. A bright lie. All the words that Blackwall had never said aloud. Solas shook his head. He’d thought he’d understood. Thought he’d known the hidden landscape beneath the man’s silent facade. He wanted to dash them from the bench, set them each alight to curl and blacken, the bright paint to bubble. Expose the dark lie that was beneath. But it would serve no one. He was the last person to fall for superstition, but Solas still felt a creeping unease at the idea of giving them to other children when he knew the ones they were truly meant for were corpses. He opened his pack with a deep sigh. He closed his eyes and sought out friends. Tiny wisps and kind spirits. One for each toy, to watch over the boy or girl who cherished it, to come at need. Not bound, they did it for love of the task. He placed them one by one into his pack, his hand lingering last over the tiny elf doll he had painted with his own hand.  
“Let me have that one,” said Cole from behind him. “I know who needs it most.” Solas handed him the toy and Cole’s smile was brilliant. “I wish to go with you. I want to see the faces and the happy hands,” he said.  
“Of course,” said Solas, “I was planning to go now, if you are ready. I wanted to return before dark.”  
“Yes. It’s time. He would be glad.”  
Solas shuddered.  
“It should not make you sad. He knew it could not undo it. He wasn’t trying. It was for his sister, too. The dark thing you think— it is not the truth.”  
“That is good to know, Cole,” he said and shouldered his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Blackwall's fate is the hardest decision in the whole thing, Solas not withstanding. I think because what he'd done had already been done and you had no chance to change it. But I'm not sure. I always saved him, but I never really knew how I ought to feel about it.


	55. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. If that's not your thing, I kept it to one chapter and you can safely skip. If it IS your thing, don't let your hopes run wild. My secret superpower is not writing erotica. (sorry!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0XcN12uVHeQ

His pack was light. Empty. If only his head could become uncluttered as easily.  
“You promised to let me help,” she chided as she crested the hill.  
He shook himself from distant thoughts to greet her. “I apologize. It is an old habit.” Fallen leaves crackled under her feet. She sat beside him. “Am I so transparent?” he asked.

“I have only seen you come here when you are distressed.”  
“It’s quiet. The only memories here are the ones with you in them.”  
She frowned. “Are _any_ of them happy?”  
“Not all worthy memories are happy.”  
“But you seem to have so few that are.”  
“I am not averse to creating more,” he said. She laughed.  
“I’m afraid there is not much of note that can be done on the top of a small bare hill, happy or otherwise.”  
“Oh no? Can you think of nothing?” he asked with a sly smile. “I have already imagined seven things of note I’d like to do on the top of this small bare hill. All of them happy.”

Her fingers flickered and the fallen leaves rose and swirled around them, a ring of scarlet and gold and blue, blue sky. A tiny temple of shifting light that blocked any outside eyes. The wind was a soft, low song around them. He reached to catch one of the leaves, and she drew a line along his jaw to bring him back to her. “Show me,” she said.  
He hesitated, but her eyes never left his. He pulled her into his lap. “I would,” he said, recovering his smile, “But you are meant to be cheering _me_ , are you not?”  
“Fenedhis, you are a _wicked_ man,” she swore, and this time, the claim brought him no pain. He laughed as she pushed him into the grass. “Very well,” she said. “Vir sulevanin then. A gift for a gift. Joy for joy.”  
“Agreed, my love. A kiss for a kiss.”  
“I did not say kisses,” she murmured even as she pressed one into his lips. “But I will not object to them. I have something else for you. Two, of the same sort, actually.”  
“And what is that?” he asked, only half-heeding, lost partly to the warmth of her against his chilled side and the soft curl of her breath against his cheek.  
“Two elvhen ruins. Untouched, that we know of. One is in the Emerald Graves— the clan Cole and I met were trying to open it. They requested aid a month ago and we sent it. But we’ve not heard back in over a week.”  
“This is a happy gift?” he asked.  
She laughed softly. “Word moves slowly outside the Inquisition camps. I have no fear for them. But it gives us an excuse to go look. It is not old enough to have held an eluvian, but I have heard rumor of them being moved, over time.”  
He shook his head. “I doubt it, Vhenan, they are movable, yes, but the Graves were never a center of activity.”  
“Corypheus doesn’t know that. We are not really looking for an eluvian. We’re looking for _him_.”  
“Ah, I se—” He bit off the word as her hand slid under his shirt and over his skin.  
“But that is not the happy part,” she said.  
“I am not objecting to _this_ part,” he chuckled and her own laugh was a stuttering burst of breath on his throat.  
“I _meant_ that we could explore it, if you’d like to go with me, regardless of Corypheus. The other is more likely, Dorian thinks it probably dates to the correct era, but the workers are still clearing the entrance. Would that please you? Something new to see? To dream?”  
“Yes, I would like to go with you. But, my love,” He moved to hover over her, “You offer too much too quickly. Two ruins in one day? You will run out of them too soon and then be forced to find other ways to ‘please’ me.”  
Her smile faded, but it was not sorrow that pushed it away. Her touch was gentle, calming.

“Nothing makes me so happy as finding ways to bring you joy,” she said.  
“But it is _my_ turn,” he protested, “vir sulevanin. A joy for a joy. A debt is owed.”  
“Then let it stay unpaid,” she said suddenly, gripping his collar.  
Solas was confused. “What? I thought—”  
“Continue to owe it, so that I may know you must always return in order to pay it. _Sathan_ ,Vhenan. Let it stay.”  
His breath caught. She’d never named him so before.

“No more of this, emma lath,” he said, “no more sorrow, remember? For you as well. I do not need obligations to compel me. If we must part, I will return as soon as I may because I _love_ you. There is no vow or debt stronger than that. Put this fear aside. Heed your own wise words, and be happy with me while we may.”  
She nodded, but did not let him go. “I know something that will bring your smile back,” he whispered. He reached past her, fumbling in his pack with one hand. She wrinkled her brow as she followed the path of his arm. He pulled a small bundle of cloth from the front pocket and placed it carefully beside her.  
“What is it?” she asked.  
“Open it and see.”

She pulled the cloth open and her eyes widened with delight. “Blackberries! I thought they’d all gone.”  
He laughed. “I think they are the last for this year. I found them this morning with Cole.”  
“And they lasted this long in your pack? You have greater willpower than I,” she said.  
“I know how you like them,” he said.  
“You saved them for me? That’s _true_ love.”  
“Yes.”  
She held one up to his lips. They were heavy and sweet, as all last things are, still tasting of summer sun, though it had long ceased soaking into them. She sighed contentedly as they finished the small handful between them. “Is it an acceptable payment, my love?” he asked.  
“More than. I shall have to find another ruin now.”  
“Good,” he said, kissing the lingering fragrance from her mouth. “Because I did not want you to think that what I mean to do next was because of a debt.”  
“What do you mean to do next?” she asked.

His fingers twisted the buttons on her jacket loose almost without thought. “This spell,” he said, glancing at the swirling leaves, “can you maintain it? Even if you’re distracted?” He tugged at the leather panels that covered her torso, sliding the lacings free.  
“Yes,” she said, but then shook her head with a gasp as his hand met the smooth skin of her belly. “No,” she said, “I can’t.” There was a shaking rattle in the leaves around them, an echo of the tremor in her flesh beneath his palm. An aching chill rushed through him at the sound.  
“Are you certain? We could test it,” he murmured before softly biting her bottom lip. She sighed and a scarlet leaf fluttered down next to her hand. A tingling spark skittered from her fingers and over his skin, stinging slightly.

Another leaf— curled and brown, shattering beneath his fingers as he struggled to catch his breath.  
“Could _you_ maintain it?” she asked.  
“I don’t want to,” he hissed. “Nor do I want your attention on a— an illusion, pretty though it is. I want all of you.”  
“We’re in full view of Skyhold without it,” she laughed into his mouth.  
His palm brushed over the burning warmth of her breast and a sudden patter and slide of cool leaves buried them as her spell collapsed. “That is one way to solve it,” he said, plucking one from her hair.  
“Until you move and we are exposed again,” she teased.  
“Hmm, you will have to remain still then.” He trailed the edge of the leaf down the bare skin of her arm. It jittered and stuttered across the small nicks she had accumulated.  
“So will you,” she said, sending another spark dancing over him, prickling over his stomach and hips. He had not expected it.  
“I cannot.” He sucked in a ragged breath and shivered.  
“Come home with me.”  
“Give me a moment more. When we walk through the gate you will belong to all the world again.”

Their covering shifted and rustled and spilled from his back as she reached up to hold his face in her warm hands. “I may have my duties to the world. But I will only ever belong to _you_. Come home, to bed.” She watched him, waiting. But he hesitated and the moment passed. A flicker of sorrow flashed over her but then it was gone, hidden by a soft smile. She let him go, twisting away to sit up. She brushed a leaf from his shoulder.  
“Vhenan, I—”  
She shook her head. “All is well, fanor.” She squeezed his hand. “I will not press.” She stood up, relacing the leather panels and tightening them over her blouse. She shrugged on her jacket and held out a hand to him. “Let’s find the others. I’m certain it is almost time to eat.” She pulled him up. He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t fair to keep pulling back from her. Not to her, not to himself. But he could not give her the eternity he longed to. He pushed her hands gently away from the buttons of her jacket, slipping them closed one by one with his own fingers.

“We leave for the Emerald Graves tomorrow?” he asked, lingering over each small fastening.  
“Yes, if you think you can be ready.”  
“Who joins us?”  
“Cassandra and Cole.”  
He nodded, pulling the jacket closed over the swell of her chest. “I need—” Her breath was still as he paused. “Give me an hour to gather my things.”  
“As long as you need,” she said. She was watching his fingers on the last button. He waited until she looked up at him.  
“Give me an hour,” he repeated, “and then I would join you in your quarters if you’ll allow it.”  
She was wary, uncertain. He could see it, could see the nervous pulse at the corner of her jaw, the anxious flex in her marked hand at her side. “Yes,” was all she said. Then she turned and walked slowly back to the fortress while he shuffled through the leaves searching for his pack. A few had slid inside the open pocket. He didn’t remove them.

Solas paced the rotunda not thirty minutes later. An hour. Had he truly said an hour? It only gave him time to worry. He checked his pack again, something he never did. He considered the reports and books on his desk, flipping through them without really seeing them. One scroll sat apart from his neat stack, still rolled and neatly tied. He didn’t recognize it and frowned. He had asked Josephine not to place things on his desk without telling him. Things tended to get lost in the shuffle when she did that. He picked it up, opening it. It was not a report from Josephine, but something in the Inquisitor’s hand.

Because you asked me why. I have begun a list for the times you refuse to believe that I love you.

The page was blank after that. Solas felt a wave of heartsickness before he realized she would not leave such a thing. It was not blank, just hidden from other eyes. He held it up to the veilfire lamp and the small, perfect outline of a leaf appeared. It grew and blushed, joined by others, the sun illuminating them like cathedral glass. And then a surge of longing so strong that he gripped the edge of the desk. The soft warmth of lips and hands spread through him, still blinded by the shifting glow of the leaves above. It faded and he found himself shaking with want. _She is becoming quite adept at this,_ he thought. An hour had definitely been too long. He rolled the scroll up, tying it again and placed it between the leaves in his pack. He couldn’t stand to leave it, even if it meant she’d have to find another to continue her list.

He’d never make it another thirty minutes. He rubbed the sore, aching center of his chest. He’d never make it another breath. He got up and headed for the tavern.

She was sitting with Varric and Sera. “Are you joining us, Chuckles? I’ll call for another plate,” said Varric.  
Solas shook his head. “No— thank you. I just— Inquisitor, may I speak with you?”  
Varric caught the worried look on the Inquisitor’s face. “Hey, now,” he said, “where’s the fire, Solas?”  
“In his breeches, most likely,” said Sera, elbowing the Inquisitor, who blushed furiously. “Oh, shit,” said Sera when she saw, “sorry, none of my— forget it.”  
There was an agent with a stack of reports approaching. Varric leapt up. “I’ll take those,” he said. The agent protested, but Varric succeeded in heading him off. The Inquisitor stood up. Solas stepped back to allow her to go first. He didn’t trust himself to determine their pace.

She led them out and across the courtyard in silence. Josephine stopped her in the entrance of the fortress but the Inquisitor said a few low words that Solas listened to without hearing, and Josephine stepped aside.  
Then they were climbing the long stairs, the wood creaking with the cold damp, the soft sawdust smell like an ancient echo. She stopped halfway and turned to him.

“It’s all right, you know. I’m not even certain that what I’m doing is what you wish. If it’s not— nothing will change if you want to remain as we have been. Touch is not so important to some, I understand. It will not alter my love for you— if that is what you came to tell me then, be at ease. I didn’t mean to push, earlier. I only wanted your happiness.”  
“You have been so understanding, Vhenan, but it is unnecessary. Touch _is_ important to me. I told you once that it had been a long time— it was not because I did not want it, but that I hadn’t found _you_ yet. You did not push. It was I who began it, on the hill.” He climbed a stair to reach her, but he did not touch her. “I didn’t come to reject you.”  
“No?”  
He began climbing again. “No,” he called over his shoulder. He waited for her to open the door.  
“Then,” she began, her hand twisting the knob, “what _did_ you come for?”  
“For _you_ , Vhenan,” he pushed her gently into the door and it creaked open. “I came for you.”

She kissed him and pulling him slowly farther into her rooms. She tripped on the riser of the first step and he caught her. “Void take it,” she grumbled, kicking the stair. He laughed and after a moment she joined him, a soft blush deepening her vallaslin. He closed the door behind them and she pulled the strap of his pack from his shoulder, dropping it where they stood. She took an unsteady step backing up the stairs, still kissing him.

“Perhaps we should concentrate on the steps first, my love,” he said, breaking away.  
“I’m afraid if I look away, I’ll find you gone, a puff of smoke, a dream that shatters with a burst of sudden light.”  
He brushed his hand over her cheek. “Have faith in me, Vhenan. I’m not going anywhere.”  
She turned reluctantly away and climbed the last few stairs. Her quarters were dark and chilly. The wind rattled in the large glass windows. He moved to start a fire in the hearth but she stopped him.

“We don’t need it,” she said.  
“We will,” he laughed, but she shook her head. She spread her palm, the anchor blindingly bright. He could feel the Veil as it thinned, melting away as a sheet of ice. It was so easy for her. The Fade bled into the room. She held out her hand. “This is perilous, emma lath,” he protested.  
“It will happen anyway, when— at the end.” Her blush deepened. “It has happened before. It’s gentler this way. And too small to attract anything.”  
It took him a moment to understand. “You’ve done this before?”  
She looked away. “After Adamant. I think— I think it changed something, but I can’t be certain. We can stay here, if you wish, but I would leave it open, I don’t want to—” He stopped her with a fierce kiss and lifting her from the ground, he stepped through.

The ache for her, the craving he had thought insurmountable just moments before, trebled in the act of a solitary step forward. It was a keen and beautiful sliver of glass carving through his chest. He could feel, too, her own want flooding from her. And in it, through it, piercing him as a thousand quills of warmth, pure love. It was the same as her distant pulls of magic had been, the same tug in his chest but stronger, fuller. Any lingering doubts dissolved, and she laughed as the weight of his fear lifted away. “Had I known it was that easy,” she murmured, “How much time have I lost?”  
“None,” he said, placing her on the large bed. “This is exactly as it was meant to be. It could have happened no other way but this.”

He pulled the room into the one that had so long inhabited his memory, his own paintings spread over the walls, shifting into her, only her. His own bed as it had been, deep and soft and redolent of the forest as the cypress branches crushed beneath them. She might have noticed, another time. Might have asked where this place was. Might have recognized it as his. But he did not let her. Everything slid away, every restraint, every secret and evasion as if she had brushed them aside as easily as the Veil. They didn’t matter. They meant nothing, not in that moment. He pressed his fingers between hers and she _felt_. She might have known everything, had she been able to gather herself and look, he gave her all, the entire depth of him. A stab of terror flashed through him, but then she cried out to him, sweet and joyous, the sound echoing through him. He thought any risk worth that soft song. They had barely begun, and his eyes stung with tears already. Her lips met his, her breath an ocean tide flooding his chest and then receding. Her hand shook in his, and his own fingers fumbled over the buttons he’d twisted closed so easily an hour before.

“Shh,” she said suddenly, her thumb rubbing away the dampness on his cheek. “Slow, emma lath, go slow. Or it will be too much. We have time.”  
He shook his head. “Not enough.” A thick surge of affection plumed from her, washed over him. Through him.  
“As much as you want, Solas.”  
“Never enough. Never.” The air around them changed. Cooled, darkened. And he knew she was feeling all his sorrow. He tried to draw it back, to take it from them. She pulled him down, her hands gliding over his neck, her breath warm in his ear.  
“As much as you want,” she insisted. “Let go. The world can care for itself a while. _Love_ me,” she pleaded. “I will ask for nothing else.”  
“It does not prevent me from wishing to give you more than that.”  
She placed her free palm over his heart and it was cool and soothing. “There is _nothing_ more than that,” she said. She pulled her other hand from his and gripped the hem of his shirt. He felt the thin fabric drag over his back as she slid it from him.

She pushed him up to sit and followed, kneeling beside him. She was giving him space to breath, to think. He didn’t require it. It had been a long while, but _this_ was the world he remembered. It was she who might have been overwhelmed. But that _want_ pulsed from her again and he was too dizzy with it to hold on to reason. Her fingers were light and quick over his leg, unraveling the footwrappings, unraveling _him_. Her touch left tiny flares behind, like stars across the expanse of him. He reached a hand for her braid and she shivered as his hand brushed by the nape of her neck, but did not look up from the intricate weave she was unthreading. The wrap came away just as her hair fell loose and he watched as her rapid breaths made it float free of her face. He pushed it back to see her and her hands stilled against his other leg as she looked up at him.

“How can you _be_?” he asked, dazed. “How is it me that is here with you? Why, when all the world would kneel before you if you asked?”  
She laughed and the Fade shook with it, light and merry. She turned her face to kiss his palm. “You overestimate the affection of the world for me. Vastly. But that is beside the point.” She leaned in closer. “I see that I shall need to add many, many things to my list. The reasons it should be you are endless and I will be glad to record them for you. Later. When I can think of something other than your terrible beauty.” Her fingers trickled over his shoulder and she pressed a burning kiss to his chest. “If such a time ever comes, though I have my doubts.” Her hands returned to his leg, slow and methodical and he realized she was doing it on purpose, to calm herself. He curled into her, kissing the edge of her ear, the side of her throat, the peak of her chin. The wrapping came free of his foot at last and he crept closer to her.

The Fade thrummed and pulsed around them, a powerful throb that almost pressed hard enough to hurt. His hand hovered over the first button of her jacket, and he realized it was an echo of her heart.  
“We can wait,” he said softly, “stop even, if it is too much. It is not too late. I don’t want to hurt—” he broke off and sucked in a sharp breath at the heavy wound his words had made in her.  
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, noticing his reaction, “I don’t know how to do this. I was never here with anyone— nothing could feel me before.”  
He shook his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” He unhooked her buttons, one after another. “I do not _want_ to stop, Vhenan. I only wanted to be certain I was not hurting you.” His breath came easier as the sadness faded from the air. What a terrible thing heartbreak would be here. He pushed the thought aside as if it could scorch him.

She shrugged the jacket from her shoulders. He began unthreading the leather panels beneath. “I am— older than I appear, emma lath,” he said, “older even than my flesh. I have walked the world in this place and out of it.” The panels slid free and he curled his finger around the hem of her shirt. “In all that time, I have never found anything to match you.” He pulled it carefully up and she raised her arms to help him take it from her. “Power, wealth, time— I have wanted nothing as I want you.” He rolled the bindings from her chest. “Ask me for anything, Vhenan. Ask me to stay,” he whispered. “I cannot refuse. Not now.”  
Her eyes were overbright, brimming. “That is why I will not ask,” she said, but she did, all of her did in this place. Asked, but didn’t demand. Only her mouth was silent. Everything else screamed for him.  
“I know,” was all that he said, and he kissed her with his own, because he knew that the rest of him was already promising everything she would not ask.

She pushed him to lie down on the soft furs, her hands tracing the tendons in his wrist, the pull of muscle to his shoulder, the hard jut of his breast bone, as if they were a marvel, the sum of an ancient carven thing long lost to the world. Silver sparks sizzled on the edge of her skin, lining her in light. Her hair was a cool, crackling wave over his chest as she slid the remainder of his clothing from him. A swift lick of her lightning slid over his hip and down one long leg, tingling softly in its wake.

“Oh!” she cried, “Did it hurt? I didn’t mean to—”  
He shook his head with a soft smile. “Magic will not hurt unless you mean it to, not here. We don’t have to struggle to control it here.”  
“I feel as if I’ve never worked harder to keep it in my control.”  
He pulled her down beside him. “That is because part of you knows better what it is you want. Let go. A small leap, my love, but you will come to no harm. Will you trust me?”  
“Yes,” she sighed against him, tiny arcs snapping and leaping from her skin to his. He laughed and sent one flickering back, playing. “Is it always lightning?” she asked.  
“Oh no,” he said, his smile turning wicked. “Sometimes it is flame.” He traced a line of warmth down her shoulder, her side, the curve of her hip. “Sometimes—” He took a deep breath and blew light frost over her bare breast. Her fingers curled tightly over his arm and the tense hum of her want echoed all around him. He abandoned his gentle tease and slid her leggings from her, kissing the hollow dip of her hip as he did. He touched the pale, raised lines where the surgeon had left his mark behind.

  
“They are ugly, I know. I’m sorry,” she said softly, watching him.  
He shook his head. “They are not. You have written the story of your kindness on your own skin, Vhenan. How could that ever be ugly?” He traced the lines again. “These are Adamant and veilfire and relieving me of sorrow.” He bent to press a kiss to each. A soft cool caress of ice from his fingertips at the wriggling pink patch on her belly. “And this to save a village from a dragon. Poorly healed by Dorian, I’d guess, and hidden from me so I wouldn’t worry.” He shook his head with a wry smile. “You said the scratch on your face was all. But I knew.”  
She blushed but kept silent. He raised her wrist to his cheek, pressing it to him and closing his eyes, the memory still too sharp to bear. “And this for Haven, for us all. It must have been agony, and yet you healed a few paltry scratches of my own first, before you would let me ease it.” He pressed his thumb along her collarbone lingering over the slash that Wisdom had made in its anger. “Let this be the last. Let this be the only harm you keep for the love of me,” he said feeling his throat tighten with grief. She reached for him and he yielded, sliding down beside her. “You are exquisite, emma lath, every inch, and will only grow more so, every day,” he said, staring at her.

Again, the deep, aching warmth of her love swept over him, sunk into him. She kissed him, all of her, the glide and twist of her skin pressing against his as she shifted. She was soft and strong all at once. _Bend but never break. Yield to kindness but never to cruelty._ An ocean of flame and water that pressed against him, rolled over him, consumed him. He would drown. He didn’t care. Her name tore from his throat into the air, hanging there a long moment, fluttering lazily down into a soft whisper that he kissed into her cheek. Her hands were damp leaves sliding, tumbling, shaking, sticking. “Slow,” he gasped, “slow or I shall shatter.”  
“Then I will pull you back together, again and again,” she said.  
“I would not leave you behind to do so.” He pressed her back, crushing her gently into the bed. His lips found her shoulder, brushing in soft strokes, dragging over the fragile flesh of her breast, pursing and piercing against her abdomen.

He glanced up at the rustle of a sigh from her and found the room changed. Scarlet and shadow. An aravel, the shaking branches of restless trees a shadow and a scrape against the canvas. He did not know which of them had changed it. The thought slid away because his fingers had drifted without his direction, and she was like rain. Oh! He was a desert. The canvas roof pattered and rattled under a sudden shower and he knew it was him that time, who had done it. Below it, a current of need and her voice calling to him. Submerged. That was the right word. Submerged. A twining below the skin. He wanted _more_. Permanence. He wanted permanence. Something he couldn’t undo, for good or ill. To make her inextricable. To print her in himself as he had done to her. To die if she were ever removed.

“Sathan, Solas,” she called, curling to pull his mouth to hers again. The rain became a torrent and then a stream. He was a stone sinking into a deep summer river, warm and sunlit and pulling, pulling, dissolving all, even the bare, ancient rock of him. But it was she that cried out, “I will disappear!”  
“Never,” he rasped, “This memory will be a deep and shining guidepost. You will never disappear, emma lath.” But a tinge of panic, like a thread of blood laced the air. “Let go, Vhenan. Have faith in me,” he murmured into her ear in broken gusts. The fear tumbled away and she pulsed, a riptide yanking him after her.

The world was emerald in the light of the anchor’s flare, a world of spring. He floated down, damp and loose, swirling along the lingering eddys before catching again on the edge of conscious thought. Her eyes were closed, a halo of fallen leaves caught in the furs, in her hair, a tiny gold one stuck to the sweat between her breasts. He watched it rise and fall and come to stillness at last. He peeled it away, pressing a soft kiss to the skin beneath. Her eyes opened and she watched him, smoothing his brow, his eyelid, his lips. A creeping sorrow bloomed in her face. Her jaw pulsed as she fought it, but a tear slipped out and the wind through the aravel’s roof turned mournful and chill.

“Tears, Vhenan— why?” he asked, brushing it away.  
“It’s all right,” she said.  
“It _is_ ,” he agreed with a soft smile.  
Her hand fluttered beside her head, reaching, closing around his shirt. “I won’t make you stay. Thank you for— for this.” She sat up, pressing it into his hand. “All is well,” she said with a wavering smile that none of the rest of her felt, “I know what you would say.”  
He shook his head. “You do not. Leaving was not my intent. Though— I will if you wish.”  
She dropped the shirt beside them, forgotten. “Never,” she said, pulling him back into her arms. His fingers traced old words of love against her hip without any real intent as he watched her. “What did you mean to say then?” she asked abruptly.  
He laughed and tipped his forehead against hers. “Again. That is what I intended to say. Again and again and again.”  
“Yes, again,” she said, the smile returning to her face, “Today and tomorrow and every day after.”


	56. Din'an Hanin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XL6C3vY0jM&list=RDMM8QwvqKMXhL8&index=16&spfreload=1

“You’ve been very quiet, Cole,” said Cassandra as they picked their way through the Emerald Graves. It wasn’t very emerald this time of year. A riot of color instead, a living memory. Cole watched as Solas brushed a fiery leaf from the Inquisitor’s shoulder with a soft smile.  
“You are all _happy_ ,” he said. “It is not me that’s quiet, but all of you.”  
“Still— no incessant questions for Solas?” asked the Seeker.  
“He doesn’t need the distraction any more. He isn’t searching for anything, not wishing to be somewhere else, not wishing to be a different man. He’s at peace,” said Cole without turning to look. But the Inquisitor did, watching him with a mild surprise. He smiled and touched her fingers with his own. Cassandra caught sight of it.  
“Well thank the Maker for _that_ ,” she said at last. They passed into an easy silence until the ruins of Din’an Hanin grew from the mossy ground.

“I have never been here, Inquisitor,” said Cassandra, “What is known about this place?”  
“I only know stories,” said the Inquisitor. She spun slowly around looking up toward the sky. “You will not like the stories that I know, Cassandra.”  
“I would like to hear it anyway.”  
“The Emerald Graves were named for the resting place of the Emerald Knights. They protected the Dales. It is said that every tree in this forest is a promise of service from an Emerald Knight.”  
“A pretty thought, emma lath, but it seems unlikely,” said Solas gently.  
“You are probably right. I cannot see us ever so numerous,” she said. He was silent, though he wished he’d said something reassuring instead.

“The legend says that whenever an Emerald Knight died, they were entombed in Din’an Hanin, the ruins we are going to. The last— the last battled the humans during the second exalted march. It has remained sealed since. Taven believes there may be some evidence, some history that may be found within the ruins. I would be very pleased to return a portion of what has been lost, but that is not why we are here.”  
“What is our purpose then, Inquisitor?”  
“We’re here because there is a possibility of an eluvian in the ruins. Not a large possibility, but we must prevent Corypheus from finding one. We have to investigate every place that he might. Taven asked for our aid, but he is in charge.” She stopped to look at them all. “It is important. As important as not marching into Orlais to save Blackwall. The Dalish clan that lives here has claim before us. Can you understand?”  
“Of course,” said Cassandra.  
A warm smile grew on the Inquisitor’s lips. “I knew _you_ would, Cassandra. I meant Solas.” She looked at him. “I know the stories here are romanticized and have changed over centuries of telling. But it is everything to us. I wanted to be an Emerald Knight when I was a small girl. Everyone I knew wanted to be an Emerald Knight. They were strong and brave and _ours_. The truth— it is probably in there, fanor. Whatever it is— it will likely diminish them. It will likely diminish _us_. Let Taven discover it. Let him take his time to come to terms with it. It has taken centuries to build the legend of this place. It will not be easy to dismantle.”  
“You fear we will find something damning?” he asked.  
“I fear we will find out that the Knights were people. With all the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of other people. That is damning enough.”  
“Someday, someone will uncover your tomb and find out the truth about you. And you worry they will be disappointed,” said Cole.  
“Yes,” she said.

Cassandra exchanged a worried look with Solas. “I don’t know the truth about the Emerald Knights or the March. I have never seen the memory,” said Solas. “I am happy to discover it with Taven and with you.”  
“Thank you,” she said, turning her smile on him. He felt a pang of guilt. She should not have had to feel grateful for common kindness. He wondered how many times he’d said something that hurt and she’d stayed silent.  
Scout Harding met them just outside the edge of the ruins. She appeared nervous. “We got word from them two days ago. They’d discovered a deep chamber that required some seals, which they’d collected. But Taven and our men were hesitant to open it without more aid. By that time, you were already on your way, so I sent a message back yesterday morning. But— we were too late, Inquisitor. I’m sorry.”  
“Too late?”  
“Someone, or something surprised them. It must have come upon them at night. I don’t know how else it could have happened. I still haven’t discovered what or who it was, and I am not even certain that the enemy is not still inside. I’ve just arrived.”  
“I’m sure someone will tell us once we get inside—”  
Harding shook her head. “There were no survivors.”  
“No survivors?” asked Cassandra, “I thought we sent our men to help.”  
“We did. I don’t know how they were surprised, neither the Inquisition forces nor the Dalish are accustomed to making camp without watches. I know Taven kept at least two scouts near the entrance at all times. But it certainly looks as if they were completely unprepared.”

The Inquisitor stared into the ruins. “All their fighters. All their young people. Hawen’s clan is dead and they don’t even know it yet. What will I tell him? What will I tell Loranil? He must return to them. Harding—”  
“No!” cried Cole, “You cannot send him back to them. He needs the Inquisition. He will go mad and angry and violent without it.”  
“Perhaps we should find out what happened first, Vhenan. Hawen would want to know the truth,” said Solas.  
“Yes, of course,” she said slowly. “Harding, I don’t wish to leave our men or Taven’s. They should be seen to. If we knew the enemy was gone, I would do it myself…”  
“I’ll see to it personally, Inquisitor.”  
She nodded and stepped past the scout and into the ruins. Solas circled the tattered scarlet sail of a shattered aravel and stopped. The elves were scattered over the ground, not even in their light armor. Cassandra was stooping to check each, though it was obvious that they were long gone.

“Where are our soldiers?” asked Lavellan.  
“Maybe they made a stand inside. Whatever happened here, it was very fast,” said Solas.  
The Inquisitor knelt beside Taven, gently opening the pouch at his waist. “The seals aren’t here. Someone took them.”  
Cassandra pushed open the large door to the tomb and groaned at what lay before them. “Here are our men,” she said.  
“They didn’t know. It was so quick, so quiet. Most of them don’t realize they are dead,” said Cole. “Here is the place where lies are born.”  
“What lies?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“All of them,” said Cole.  
“I suspect some came before this, Cole. Centuries before,” said Solas.  
“All of the lies between human and elf. Why they scattered like seeds on wind.”  
The Inquisitor’s brow wrinkled in confusion but she heard a distant shout and turned toward the stairs. Cassandra drew her sword as they ran farther in. The horned helms of heavily armored soldiers were easy to pick out from a distance.

“Venatori,” spat the Seeker, “why am I not surprised?”  
“At least we know what they are looking for. Let us prevent them from taking it,” snarled Solas. Cole had already melted away and the Inquisitor’s spells crackled along the ancient stone, curling the dried vines in stinking, smoking curves. He blasted the armor of a Venatori that was creeping around her side, attempting to flank them. The man screamed inside the freezing metal as it seared ice crystals into his skin. He wrenched at the helm. The Inquisitor glanced over, but Cole was already sliding a dagger in the gap under his arm. The shrieks stopped abruptly, only to be replaced by the ringing smash of Cassandra’s metal shield. Another warrior slumped down as the Inquisitor released it from the paralyzing jitter of her lightning. There was a roar from across the broken courtyard and a crystalline chime made Solas’s teeth grind painfully together as a red lyrium abomination lumbered toward them.

“Red Templars too,” he hissed, hurling a boulder into the thing’s chest. It stumbled backward and he strode toward it, smashing it again and again. It was difficult to return to the monotony and impotence of those limited spells after being with the Inquisitor so recently in the Fade, after having again, a taste of his true self. It irritated Solas, and he took it out on the wretched wreck of the man before him. Lyrium crystals shattered and tiny shards rained from it, exposing the agonized, bleeding face of the templar beneath. Sympathy for the man’s madness made a crack of mercy in Solas’s anger and he ended it, slamming the blade of his staff through the man’s throat.

“Check for the seals,” the Inquisitor called as she knelt beside the smoking ruin of one of the Venatori. “If we can find even one, we can stop them from getting in.”  
He looked down at the crimson decay at his feet. She was right, but still he recoiled at the thought of touching it. _Nonsense_ , he told himself, _It isn’t as if you’ve never touched it before_. He sank down into a crouch, rolling the man carefully to his side in order to reach the pouch at his belt. The lyrium crystals in his skin crunched and he shook his head to clear the dull ache the sound made. He wrenched the pouch free and quickly backed away from the corpse. He drew the bag open, pouring its contents into his hand and throwing it aside. A sharpening stone, cloth wrapped ration laced with red veins that Solas dropped and ground under his foot, a few coins, and an ancient, flaking red ceramic shard. He traced the tip of the leafing branch that was stamped into the piece. “I’ve found one,” he said, “But it is only part of a larger whole.”  
“Well, at least we know we’re in the right place,” sighed Cassandra as she wiped her blade. “Should we take the piece and go? They cannot get in without it.”  
The Inquisitor shook her head. “Then Taven and our men would have died for nothing. We need to recover whatever is here.”  
“Inquisitor, our job is to stop Corypheus. We are of more use elsewhere,” the Seeker protested gently.  
“It’s my fault they were here. If we’d refused to aid them, they would have given up and gone back to the Plains. Maybe the Venatori would never have even known of the place if our presence hadn’t alerted them. Or if I’d come earlier, they wouldn’t have been alone. Instead I—” her eyes flickered to him. “I waited too long.”  
Solas shook his head. “Stop. I will not see you take on that burden. The blame for Taven’s death, for all of their deaths back to the Conclave, lie at the feet of only one person. And it is _not_ you.” _It is me_ , he thought. “If the Inquisition had refused to aid the Dalish, they would have been here longer, perhaps expended even more people and resources trying to find what they sought. Corypheus would have moved systematically through the Graves and his forces would have found them anyhow. And if we had come here sooner, the only result would have been that your corpse lay alongside theirs. Cullen trained our men. They were _good_ soldiers. They knew how to protect this place. But surprise and numbers can overwhelm the best fighters, even you.” He fell silent for a moment, and then held the seal out to her. “If you need to go farther, if you need to know the truth of this place, I understand, and I will come with you. But it will be for _your_ sake and not the Inquisition’s.”  
“Maker knows, you never ask anything for yourself. If this is something you wish, I will go too,” said Cassandra.

Cole shook his head sadly. “You were so _happy_. This place will not bring your happiness back.” He took off his hat, crumpling the brim in his fingers. “Maybe you should forget. The people in your head— it never hurt anyone, the way you imagine them. It helped you be brave.”  
“All the more reason to find the truth,” said Solas sternly. “You do not need them, Vhenan. You have surpassed them, even the _legends_ of them. The real people, the real Emerald Knights may not be what you imagined, but that does not mean they are any less impressive in their way. The fairytale is a crutch. Put it away so that none can yank it from you when you are vulnerable.”  
She took the seal from his hand and put it carefully in a deep pocket. “At the very least, I would see this place clear of our enemy. I would not have them destroy this place in search of an eluvian.”


	57. Star crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0nmHymgM7Y&index=43&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

The outer ruins were abandoned, no Venatori patrol after the first at the entrance. Only the warm glow of the autumn sun and the sleepy chirp of birds among the weathered rubble. It wasn’t until they plunged into the chilled dark of the intact temple that they caught sight of more enemies.

  
“They are still searching for the other pieces,” whispered Cole.  
“We may be able to take them by surprise,” murmured Cassandra, slipping down a dark staircase. They picked off a lone mage who was rummaging through old urns of ancient offerings. Cole slid another seal into the Inquisitor’s palm. She traced an ancient inscription at the foot of an enormous statue. Solas watched her.

Disillusioning her about her gods had been one matter. They were distant and silent her entire life, and the beliefs of her clan persisted because of the people she loved, not because of doctrine. It was a shock, but she was sure enough in her own skin that it didn’t alter her, not really. She had never behaved as if she feared divine retribution or expected some reward for her actions. But this— the Knights were closer. An achievable glory. He didn’t know what they would find, but the stories about him, about the other Evanuris, could tell him that whatever the Knights were, it was probably far different from what she believed about them. He wished fervently that she would not be crushed by the truth.

“This place is so large, for a tomb,” said Cassandra after they had dispatched three more small knots of Venatori and found another red templar consumed by crystals lurking in the dark corners.  
“It seems to suggest a defensible keep. Perhaps the Emerald Knights lived here as well,” said Solas.  
“A defense against what?” asked Cassandra.  
“Humans who resented Shartan taking the Dales for the Elves,” said the Inquisitor, but her voice was without malice.  
Cassandra bristled. “The Dales were a _gift_ from Andraste to those that stood with her.”  
The Inquisitor shrugged. “I don’t know the truth of things. Saying ‘a gift’ sounds sweeter. It shows Andraste to be fair and generous. If she was like you, Cassandra, then I believe that she may have been that gracious, but I have seen many in the Chantry who are not like you and who believe that she was as hard and unyielding as themselves. Saying Shartan took them may make the Dalish sound aggressive or hostile to you, but to me, the story is different. To me, Shartan fought as an equal ally with Andraste and he and his people were strong enough to insist on their fair portion of the rewards of that war. It is a simple word, but here, especially, it makes a difference. We are friends, Cassandra. I am happy to receive the warmth and kindness you offer me, and you seem to be happy that I stand shoulder to shoulder with you.”  
Solas was glad for the dim lighting. He did not want to hurt the Seeker, but the Inquisitor’s gentle protest made him smile.  
“Of course, I greatly respect you,” said Cassandra.  
“As I do you,” she replied. “But let’s move on. There are too many here that don’t respect any of us.”

  
They found the upper tombs at last, the shimmer of veilfire sparking on a grave marker. It was surrounded by unburied skeletons. “They must have made a last stand here,” said Solas.  
“Why here?” asked Cassandra. “Why not up in the keep or farther down where it was safer?”  
“She must have been precious to them. Here, and no farther,” said the Inquisitor. “I do not know much of Andrale. She does not appear in most of the tales. It is said she was lame and did not battle, but that is all.”  
“She carried a song older than her skin,” said Cole, “Untouched by dusk of Elvhenan, all its secret healing in the words she breathed. They believed she was ill, misformed. But she was perfect as she was.” He pointed to the skeletons beside the grave. “They came, bleeding, dragging over the stones, begging for her help. But her voice was silent.”

There was another pile of bones at the next marker. “What _happened_ here?” gasped Cassandra, spinning to take in the ancient carnage around them.  
“The Exalted March happened,” said the Inquisitor. She turned away from the stone. “The Dales turned away from the rest of the world, left it to its fate, and in return, the world turned on them. The same thing that’s been happening for centuries.”

He could hear the bitter anger in her voice. He let it pass without comment. He had heard her speak this way before, but it was a young anger, still driving her to try to change things. It did not lead her to the same despair it had brought him. She poured the anchor’s light into a nearby amplifier. It spun and pulsed with magic. He was surprised. The tomb was too recent to have an amplifier. Someone had moved it. This Andrale? Perhaps he had been wrong to dismiss the possibility of an eluvian here. They moved on, and he brushed the worry aside. The Venatori did not have the seals. If an eluvian were here, they would not find it.

  
The next were close together, free of the carnage. “Even I know this one,” said Cassandra grimly as the veilfire flashed Siona’s name. “She was an archer at Red Crossing, was she not?”  
“Yes,” said the Inquisitor. “Her sister was killed by a group of human hunters, and in retaliation she shot a human girl in the village.”  
“Not her sister that she killed for, but her brother’s heart,” said Cole. “But it fell, like Ghilan’nain’s bird and he died. She killed them all, though her arrows touched none of her own.”  
“I don’t understand,” said Cassandra.  
“You will,” said Cole, clutching his hat.

The last of the Venatori waited at the great doors to the inner sanctum. Left to find a quicker way through, they sawed at the bricks and tried to immolate the doors. The party took advantage of their distraction and made quick work of them. The Inquisitor pressed the pieces of tile carefully into the door and the lock disengaged with a groaning shudder. The anguish in Cole’s face made Solas’s chest clench with sudden panic. He wanted to press her behind him, be her shield, tell her to turn around, to flee. But she stepped slowly inside and all he could do was follow.

Except for a solitary sunbeam that sifted through the broken roof to shine upon a strange statue, it was utterly dark. Taven and the Inquisition had lit up the rest of the structure, but this room was untouched. The Inquisitor held up her arm, using the anchor to light a small circle around herself. Solas pulled a ball of veilfire into his own, and finding a nearby sconce, tipped it in. The shambling stumble of things around them caused Cassandra to pull her sword with a metallic jangle from its sheath.  
“It calls them. They’ve been waiting,” shouted Cole. The Inquisitor whirled around in alarm. She sought him out and her eyes widened as she looked past him.  
“Watch out!” she cried and light flung out of her raised hand, blinding him as it speared toward him. He flinched and it sped past, crackling as it struck something behind him. A jagged weight crashed into his neck with a sudden, searing flare of pain. He stumbled out of the small perimeter of light and tripped, hearing vague shouts from the others as he fell and then the world was silent and blank.

When it returned, it was to a piercing ache in his skull and Cole hovering over him in dim torchlight. He was on his side and some distant part of his mind insisted that his back was freezing. He raised an arm to rub the pain away, but a sharp twinge in his shoulder and Cole’s sudden move to catch his hand persuaded him to be still.  
“You must be patient, emma lath. I know it hurts, but I am not as quick at this as you,” said the Inquisitor behind him. He could feel now, the warmth of a healing spell trickling through the throb of his shoulder and neck.  
“What happened?” he groaned.  
“A revenant came with the other undead,” said Cassandra. He could not see her, but the tension in her voice made him picture her pacing, sword at the ready. He had not been out long, then. “It managed to get a pretty decent strike in.”  
“Ir abelas,” whispered the Inquisitor, “I was not thinking, I should have put up a barrier. I don’t even know what I intended, except to get it away from you.”  
He laughed softly and immediately regretted it. Even the slight jarring made his pain double. “It worked, I am still here, am I not?”

Cole held a potion to Solas’s lips. “We were afraid you’d choke, but you can drink it now. It will help.”  
“Thank you,” he said after drinking. The Inquisitor’s spell was gradually replacing the agony in his shoulder with an intense itch. A blade then, not the dull slam of a blunt weapon. The cold was beginning to penetrate his attention as the other discomforts began to fade.

“What did you discover?” he asked, trying to distract himself into patience, “What was the revenent guarding? Is there indeed an eluvian here?”  
Cassandra snorted. “We do not all have your single mindedness, Solas. Our first concern was you, not this place. Our next ought to be ensuring there are no more of them lurking around.”  
“I can finish the healing,” he said.  
“You aren’t even going to be able to sit up,” said the Seeker. “You can’t see the lump on your head, but I can. You’ll be dizzy for hours, or worse, no matter how much the Inquisitor does.” She was silent for a moment, but then said begrudgingly. “But, if it will make you rest easier, Cole and I will go and look.”

His eyes slid closed with a smile and he heard the click of a flint strike and the hiss of a torch being lit. Their voices faded and his world narrowed to the warm glide of the Inquisitor’s hands over his neck. The gentle touch of the her fingers left relief in their wake and he reached up to help. She pressed his arm back down. “Stop,” she ordered, “Or you’ll end up with a scar.”  
“Would it truly bother you so much? You’ve never mentioned the one on my face. And this one would be under a collar. You are the only one who would get close enough to see it.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous. It is not the sight of it that worries me. I hope you would know that by now.”  
He caught her fingers and raised them to his lips despite her protest. “Let me help then.”  
“No. You cannot see the damage. If you get a scar here, I fear it will make lifting your arm difficult. Let me finish and then I will help you sit up. It will only be a moment more.” She fell silent and pulled her hand back, concentrating. He let her, listening for the others.

He shivered and her hands stopped, her magic withdrew for a moment, leaving a grinding ache at the top of his spine. There was a lengthy rustle and then her robes were a heavy warmth over him and her magic returned, shifting to the swollen lump in his skull.  
“Thank you,” he sighed, “but where are my own things?”  
“I am sorry, Vhenan, but they are wet and torn. I would offer to fix them but…” she trailed off and he laughed. This time it was not so painful.

Footsteps returned. “No eluvian, nothing even remotely mirror-like,” said Cassandra. “Just this.”  
He opened his eyes to see her crouching beside him and handing a small leather scroll case over his head to the Inquisitor. Solas twisted and she caught him, easing him up. He curled into himself and clutched his head as even the slow movement made the crunching pressure come flooding back. Cole held him steady and the Inquisitor dropped the case to pour more healing into him. He heard the scroll case roll lightly across the floor.

“Help me move him, Cassandra. Let him lean against the pillar until he regains his balance.”  
Cole lifted the robe away and the two women gripped Solas under the arms, sliding him gently until his back grazed a stone wall. The robe was tucked around him and his eyes blinked open as Cole crushed his hat into an awkward pillow and stuffed it behind Solas’s head. He could see the dark remains of his shirt behind the Inquisitor and her hands were crusted with drying blood. She clasped them behind her back to hide them when she noticed him looking. He had a feeling the blow had been worse than he had assumed.

“We aren’t going to be able to get him back to camp like this,” said Cassandra. “Not with all those ladders.”  
“We’ll have to camp here, at least until the dizziness subsides,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Cole and I can return for our things.”  
“We shouldn’t split up.”  
“Why? We’ve cleared the tomb. And we will need water at the very least. Bedrolls and more clothing too. If you are truly worried, I can take the seal and close the door behind us so that no one may enter.”  
Solas muttered a protest at the idea of being trapped. The Inquisitor sighed. “Very well, if _you_ are not worried, Cassandra, then I can have nothing to fear.”  
“We will be back within the hour,” said the Seeker. She rose and picked up the scroll case, handing it back to the Inquisitor. “You will not like what it has to say,” she said gravely. “Perhaps Cole is right. Perhaps you are better off, perhaps your _people_ are better off with the story you have. I know that the Chantry would rather believe their version of what happened at Red Crossing than this one. I am sorry for the part that it has played all these years.”

The Inquisitor’s hand was a red haze around the leather case to his eyes. Her face wavered in and out of focus. Cole handed him a waterskin and moved away. The world went blank again for a moment.  
His eyes stuttered open at the touch of cool water against his face. It was the Inquisitor in front of him now, her vallaslin a tangled mess of anxiety.  
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I only wanted to dream.”  
Her sad smile told him she knew he was lying. “There are easier methods,” she said. “You could have just asked.”  
“Dorian said that I should add some flare.”  
It won him a laugh. He looked around them, trying to orient himself. The door was in front of him, still flung open to his immense relief. The bloody shirt had disappeared and her hands were clean again. He must have lost more time than he had assumed. The scroll case was lying open.

“What did it say?”  
“You don’t want to know,” she said with a frown.  
“I do.”  
She sighed and held the scroll out to him. He unrolled it but the letters swam until they were a black blur. “I’m sorry, Vhenan, I cannot—”  
“Of course, I’m sorry.” She took it from him and crawled to sit next to him, her body warm against his side as he leaned into her. She read it to him softly, the long apology of an Emerald Knight to the brother they had betrayed. The writer, at least, had lived long enough to realize the hopelessness of the entire thing, to write their sorrow at the terrible mistake that both the elves and humans had made at Red Crossing. She showed him the curled, bloody love note that had been folded inside the confession.

“Almost a thousand years,” she said sadly, “for something so simple. What harm was there in loving her?”  
“I thought the Dalish were very strict on matters of courtship,” he said, pressing his own spell into his throbbing temple.  
“They are. Too strict. But I thought they were more recent, a result of our dwindling, wanting to be certain there would always be some of us left. That doesn’t make it right, but it is a reason. But to shoot a woman who offered only friendship—”  
“It sounds as if Siona believed she was extending a weapon toward her. And the Emerald Knights were hardly the only ones to blame. Red Crossing was certainly not the slaughter of an entire town of innocent people as the Chantry described.”  
“Does that make it _their_ fault? Elandrin and Adalene?”

He forced himself to focus. He had expected anger at the lies of the Andrastians, not sorrow and guilt for the lovers. “Of course not, emma lath. It was just an excuse. If it had not been their love, it would have been some other reason. A missing child, a die off of cattle, a strange storm. The humans and the Dalish hated each other. They needed little incentive to fight. Elandrin and Adalene just had the misfortune to fall in love at the wrong time.” He paused to look at her. “Why does this sadden you so? They were gone long before you were born. They are just another version of the story.”  
She warmed his face with her hands. “Because I worry that we had the misfortune to fall in love at the wrong time as well.”  
She wanted him to deny it. To reassure her, to push away the idea and replace it with comfort. He could not.

“If Elandrin knew how he would die, if he knew what loving her would cost him, do you think it would have changed that love?” he asked instead.  
She thought for a moment. “No,” she replied at last, “but if he had known what it would cost _her_ , what it would cost all the thousands of people that he had sworn to protect, that might have prevented him from going with her.”

A nauseating sense of intense discomfort shook him and he leaned into her, snaking an arm around her as she held him up. “Then Elandrin would have been stronger than I,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay and the shortness. Novel deadlines, political upheaval and a fall flu. Let's hope the next few weeks are calmer.


	58. Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4dT8FJ2GE0&index=15&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL1YgEZg_TWO5TylrzzXmudY

He woke again to the crackle of a large fire in a nearby brazier. Cole was dropping a small pile of sticks into it. He’d lost more time. His head gave a warning pang as he tried to sit up, but it was dull, distant, and he pushed through it. The Inquisitor and Cassandra were bent over a low stone pedestal, talking quietly.

  
Cole crouched beside him and handed Solas a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. “Cassandra says it should be safe for you to eat now.”  
He smiled. “You are always bringing me food, Cole.”  
The boy shifted to sit nearby, his legs dangling from the stone platform. “You think the whole world expects your jaws to snap shut around it. I bring you food, I place my hand between your teeth to remind you that you aren’t that kind of wolf. I do not want you to forget.”  
Solas considered for a moment. “Thank you,” he said at last. Cole stared over at the other two.

“The ink stains used to bother her. Not so much anymore. She likes them better than the other stains upon her hands. She thinks about asking Varric to teach her. To scribble away when this is done. To drown the blood in ink,” he said.  
“You mean the Seeker? Or the Inquisitor?” asked Solas, tearing the bread as he watched them.  
“Yes,” said Cole.  
“What are they doing?”  
“Making copies. Perfect ones. Many and many until their fingers cramp and the quills snap and the paper runs out. They will scatter the story, like seeds. One to the Dalish. One to the Chantry. One to the libraries and universities and scholars and wandering clans and the alienages. So it can never be hidden again.” Cole looked over his shoulder at Solas. “You are not alone in seeking the truth. But it has so many faces, so many names. And names are so easily lost, you know.” He turned back to look at the others. “You could let yours stay lost too.”  
Solas shook his head. “I cannot. You know what will happen if I leave it alone.”

Cole ignored him. “You think I feared for the Inquisitor or for Cassandra when we entered this place. It was not their pain I feared. It was yours. She almost _won_ , Solas. You were _free_. A moment. It could be longer. Let her win.”  
“Even if she did, even if I gave it all up— I would lose her, still.”  
The boy shook his head. “She wouldn’t leave. Not for a name. Not even yours. You took her faith. Your mark took her place in her clan, her future, her life. After the Inquisition dissolves, all she has left is _you_.”  
Something deep in Solas’s chest twanged like a string grown too taut, snapping apart. “I know. I understand that feeling too well. I did not wish for it to happen this way—”  
Cole turned and Solas was shocked to see the anger in the boy’s face. “Then _stop_ ,” he hissed.  
“You don’t understand. It will _fall_. It’s already falling. It has been for centuries. The fact that you are sitting here is proof enough of that. And when it does— everything will be swept utterly away. Even her.”  
“You did not create the Blight. And you have a cure—”  
Solas laughed and it was bitter and dry. “It is no cure. At best it delayed the spread. Even at the end we could only push off death a few centuries. And I’ve no idea if it would work on other people—”  
Cole leapt up with a scowl. “Other people? You think such terrible things sometimes. They are _all_ your people, Solas. You, all of you, you divide yourselves up in such strange ways. By flesh and belief and time. None of it’s _real_. You know that, you know best of all. The thing inside, it starts the same. It ends the same. You come from the same well. Everything else— it’s just stories. Made up in your heads, like Varric’s. Except your stories hurt. His never do. Hers never do.”

  
Solas raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm him. “Yes, Cole, you are right. But as much as I may wish to save their spirits, the cure may not work the same on different flesh. I did not make that up. It is real.”  
“Only if the Blight hurt their flesh. But it hurts spirit and magic just the same. It is a taint we all share. It is a doom we all face.”  
“How long should I waste on a cure that never really worked? How many of the remaining years, when I could be undoing all of it? All I need is the focus and it can all be undone. The Blight need never happen—”  
“Because it _did_ happen. Even if you erase us. It matters, Solas. It matters what you leave behind you. And who. A day does not go by that I do not hear the Inquisitor or Dorian’s guilt over Redcliffe, over the people they could not save in that world. It will not be different for you. You can save her, save _us_ , if you try. She almost had you convinced. She almost won. But this place, what happened here, it begins to darken your thoughts. Fight it. Banal nadas.” The boy left him to sit beside Cassandra as she wrote.

He was able to slide into sleep of his own volition after that, blinking wearily at the fire in the brazier until the past melted into the present and he found himself surrounded by dozens of knights. Some drinking, some training, some playing with domesticated wolves. He had expected them to be dour and strict, but everywhere was the sound of laughter. And so many— he had anticipated a handful only, the desperate, fallen leftovers of Shartan’s forces. Lavellan would love to see it. He would wait for her to join him.  
But something pulled at him, as if someone were shaking him. His ear twitched in his sleep and he started to surface.

“—ama’is, Fen’harel. Sast druan.”  
A jolt of unease shot through him and his breath froze in his chest. The Inquisitor was at his back, her hand warm over the spot he had been struck as she checked him again. He could feel the heat of her breath against his neck as she began to repeat the prayer and he reached up to catch her fingers before she could return to his name.  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I did not mean to wake you. I wanted to be certain there was no remaining bruise.”  
He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I thought you were calling me,” he said.  
“No— I— it isn’t important. Rest.”  
He shifted, twisting to face her. “Protect who, Vhenan? Who would you make such a reckless bargain for?”  
“For you,” she said with a deep blush.

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. But she was so worried. “Why would you ask Fen’harel to protect me?” he asked instead.  
“Because I don’t know who to pray to any longer. The others— are not as I believed. But _him_ … He might be the only one who would listen.”  
Solas slid an arm around her waist. “You have been doing an excellent job of protecting your friends without the help of any gods thus far.”  
“Not today.”  
He did laugh now, but it was soft. “I am still here, am I not? It was a foolish moment, I forgot my surroundings and learned a lesson for it. You are not to blame for my mistake.”  
Her vallaslin creased at the forehead as she frowned. “That would not comfort me if you were lost.”  
“This prayer would?”  
“Nothing would comfort me. But knowing that I hadn’t said it— that would be worse. Even if there is nothing to hear it, at least I would try.”  
He searched her face, looking for some clue that she knew, that she’d discovered the truth. All he saw was worry. “ _I_ hear, my love. I am listening.”  
She smiled. “Should I pray to you instead?”  
“No!” He closed his eyes, ashamed at the shock the question had brought out.

“Solas— what is wrong?”  
He shook his head and opened his eyes. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I am safe, and here with you. Just— very tired. And I suspect I am not making much sense.”  
She pressed her thumb in gentle circles at his temple. “Rest then. Dream of this place and tell me what you find in the morning.”  
“Come and find the Emerald Knights with me, Vhenan. We will dream together.”  
She pulled away slightly. “I don’t want to see the aftermath of Red Crossing.”  
“There are decades of other memories to explore.” He smiled and traced the lines in her brow. “I do not think you will be disappointed in them. Let me return a fraction of what has been lost.”  
“Could we see Sulan then? I want to see the blade. And the middle times. Middle times are happy times. Peaceful times.”  
“That is not always true. We are in someone else’s ‘middle time’ even though it appears an ending to us.” He shook his head. “Forgive me. That does not help. Sulan, yes, that would be a good memory. Come and find it with me.” He pulled the blanket over her shoulder and slid back into his own, their fingers meeting between them as they fell asleep.

It was not far to Hawen’s camp. A day’s easy ride. The Inquisitor had begun the day relaxed and ready. She had been pleased with the way Solas’s shoulder and head were healing and still empowered by the memories they had seen of the knights in the Fade. But as the miles drew on, and the weight of the news they bore sank in, she grew more pensive and Cole more watchful of them both.

She had sent Cassandra away, back to Val Royeaux to deliver one of the copies of the account of Red Crossing to the Chantry there. It was easier for them both. Cassandra was not to blame for all the centuries of distrust and sorrow between the Dalish and her church, but she felt the guilt of it anyway. And coupled with bearing news of his clanmates’ deaths to Hawen could only increase it and make the clan uncomfortable at best, angry and hostile at worst. So they were back to three and Solas could not help but compare it to the flight to rescue Wisdom that had happened just months before.

  
“It is not your fault. It was not your blade,” said Cole, tugging at the Inquisitor’s sleeve. She gave him a sad smile.  
“I cannot claim that we had no responsibility here. Were it not for us— Taven might have gone utterly unnoticed by the Venatori.”  
“I don’t think so,” said Solas. “Unless you meant not to oppose Corypheus at all. And in that case they would be just as dead. He was going to search that ruin, one way or another. Taven and his clanmates were just unlucky.”  
“It will not bring Hawen peace to know that.”  
“The story might,” said Cole. “They died looking for the truth. That might help. It is good that we are bringing it to them.”  
She was silent, the muscle at the corner of her jaw tightening. “Their clan is _dead_ ,” she said at last. “Who is left? A keeper, a halla tender and three women, two beyond child bearing years. The people at Din’an Hanin were the core of the life and the future of it. They cannot defend themselves. Only one of them is a capable hunter. They had to rely on our kindness to make it to winter. And now that winter is here…” she trailed off watching the brittle strands of dead rashvine rattle against the boulders beside the road. “Hawen’s clan will never see another spring. And we are diminished. I am not going to give them the story of Red Crossing. I’m not even going to bring them news of their clanmates. I’m bringing them a sentence of execution. A long and painful one without hope of reprieve.”

They fell into a long silence, the thud of the horse’s hooves a mourning drum along the empty road. “I’m sorry, Cole,” she said at last, “I did not mean to discourage you. I know you will help, as you always do. And Hawen’s people will find another home, perhaps. I will send word to my clan. They will offer a haven to our cousins, if they will have it.”  
“Do not send Loranil back,” pleaded Cole. “It will kill him. He needs us.”  
“His clan needs _him_ ,” said the Inquisitor.  
“No,” said Solas, “They are beyond his aid. He can only suffer the same hopeless decline along with them. He has passion and purpose where he is, Vhenan. You give him something to hope for. Do not snatch it away, especially now.”  
Cole gave him a grateful smile. He was uncertain whether he was speaking for Loranil’s sake or Cole’s or for his own. He brushed the doubt aside. It didn’t matter, in the end.

The river was sluggish, ice growing in sharp shards that pierced into the water’s heart. It would not be long before snowfall. She stopped on the far bank, watching the tiny clan with it’s pitiful handful of broken-down aravels. He dismounted beside her and put a warm hand on her knee. She roused herself, looking down into his face. “Word travels slowly to the Inquisition camps, my love, but it travels even slower to them. They may have been wondering for a long while. You told me, once, that it was worse than knowing the truth, even if the truth was bad. Every day they linger, the weather turns fouler, the game scarcer. We cannot change what has happened. But we can help them survive it.”  
She nodded and slid down, a firmness in her step. He hardened the river into a still span of ice and led them carefully across.


	59. Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXuPyE7CKZQ

“This is _wrong_ ,” said Cole as they helped Hawen’s people packing their scanty belongings.  
“Why?” he asked. “I do not compel them. I’m simply giving them another option. The way home, if they wish to take it. I cannot protect them if they are scattered as they are now. These people will never find a place in clan Lavellan. Even if they are all as warm and welcoming as the Inquisitor, they will always be outsiders. There are too few Dalish left. With me they would be part of something larger. And perhaps be able to protect the rest of Thedas for a time, if they choose. They can be the heroes for a dying world. You insist that it matters, so I am trying to provide.”  
“If it is so honorable, why do you not offer it to her? You haven’t told the Inquisitor, yet she would not even need the spell. She’d walk into the flame behind you.”  
He wrapped a bow tightly in oilcloth. “ _That_ is why I do not tell her. She is already burdened. She does not need another weight. Even one she willingly shoulders.”  
“And when this is done? When you have it back and Corypheus is gone and her responsibility lessens, will you show her the way to Arlathan then?”  
He sighed. “That remains to be seen. I would have her stay in Skyhold, protected with all she can gather.”  
Cole shook his head. “She will not. And if she did, she would die alone, last. She would watch all that she loved crumble and fall before her. That suffering is not worthy of her, of what she has done.”  
He scrubbed his face but did not reply.

  
“One month, Solas. That is how long it will take me to lead these people to her clan. One month and then I will tell her if you have not. This is wrong. It is hurting her. I cannot be silent any longer. You will have to bind me or claim your own secrets.” The boy walked away and worry mingled with regret in Solas at the uncomfortable parting.

He was right. It had gone on for far too long. She deserved the truth. _More than the truth_ , he thought, _more than the ruin Arlathan has become. More than what I have become_. He watched her trying to comfort the Keeper. Could he take her with him? Would she go and leave this doomed world behind? He could see her restored, all the age and weakness erased, the vallaslin banished, the mark a memory or a boon instead of the poison it was here. Would she leave this existence? These people, for him?

His heart shook at the question, because he already knew the answer. She had already told him. She’d stand on the brink of destruction, she’d go to the very end _with_ him, but she’d never do it _for_ him. She’d accepted the mark, accepted its peril even while he refused to, even as he fought its spread. Not wished it away, called it cruel to wish it onto someone else. She’d stayed at Haven, after everyone else had fled. Stayed when the humans would have carried her on their backs as a saint if she’d asked. And after he told her, after he warned her what was coming, she’d refused the vow he’d asked of her, refused the sanctuary of Skyhold. He had told himself it was for his own sake, that she wouldn’t leave him while he was in danger, but he knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t a special case. While there were people she could save, she wouldn’t abandon them. Redcliffe haunted her. Warden Stroud haunted her. Even Blackwall, because she could not save him from himself. _She would watch all that she loved crumble and fall before her,_ Cole had said. And still, she would stand and try to shield them. She would not go. If Solas wanted to keep her, and, oh, he did, he would have to stay. The other world, the perfect one of his dreams, he had to let it go unborn.

  
And face the utter extinction of everything. Stand with her as everything he loved crumbled and fell, too. Deny countless others the chance to thrive. It was too much to ask, too much to sacrifice for one man’s heart. He could not stay. And she could not go. Giving her up was impossible. Keeping her was also impossible. What was he to do?

The Dalish had a story that about him that he’d always loathed. About a dog, of all things. He had laughed bitterly at it for years. But now— now he wished he truly had a tail to chew off. It would be worth it, to escape. He stared at the spreading glow of the mark circling her wrist and feared it would be _her_ arm he’d be chewing off before the end. How he missed Wisdom’s patient advice. _There are surprises in the world still, even for one such as you,_ it had said. He wished fervently that the Inquisitor had still more surprises for him.

They parted from the clan and Cole at the edge of the Waking Sea, the scarlet sails of the aravels whipping in the bitter wind as a light snow began falling and sizzling in the meager campfires. “Be safe, Cole,” the Inquisitor had said, brushing snow from the shoulders of his coat.

Cole gripped her arm and stared at her intently. “We don’t choose our names, Inquisitor. They are given to us whether we want them or not. If you dig up the grave, what you find will not disappoint you.”  
Solas watched her vallaslin contract in confusion. She just nodded. The boy turned to him. “The problem with running is that you have to keep doing it. How many pieces do you have left to tear off? Your tongue? Your heart? Maybe this one isn’t necessary. Maybe this time, someone is coming to open the trap and set you free.” The Inquisitor stepped slowly away.  
“I will see you in a month,” said Cole. “Hawen’s people will be safe with your family. I am glad to help.”  
“Thank you, Cole,” she said, grabbing her pack from Solas. “Have a safe journey.”  
Solas said nothing, but started off across the long bridge to Val Royeaux. The Inquisitor followed him, watching the tiny clan dwindle behind a curtain of snow.

“What was that about?” she asked at last. He stopped and turned toward her, pulled her into a hard, desperate kiss.  
“Why could you not have prayed to protect yourself?” he groaned. “I could have lived with that. Been bound by it.”  
She stared at him, puzzled. “You mean when I prayed to Fen’harel? I thought you believed it a useless thing, to pray to him. What am I meant to be protected from?”  
“Mostly _him_.”  
“From the Dread Wolf? What does he want from _me_?”  
“ _Everything_ , Vhenan. I want everything, and I cannot have it,” he said grasping her arms hard enough to bruise.  
“You? I thought we were speaking of Fen’harel.” She shook her head. “Never mind, that isn’t important. What is it you wish? What have I denied you? I thought I’d given you all that I had to give. Name the thing that is lacking and I would do it.”  
“Time. I need time.”  
She smiled sadly and slid a palm over his cheek. “Alas, that is not something I control.”  
“Then— tell me how to save you. How do I save you?”  
“You mean from the mark?”

He shook his head and she threw up her arms in frustration.  
“How can I tell you if I’ve no idea what I’m meant to be saved _from_?”  
He clutched his head. “This is all madness,” he muttered, turning away from her. She chased him, pulling his cloak closer to her, so close her breath fluttered the edge of his hood.  
“Tell me,” she said, and her eyes were iron. He said nothing. “Fine,” she snapped, “you want time. I will give you what I have. We’ll stand on this bridge until the snow buries us or Corypheus burns us if that is what you wish, but this has to end. You cannot be forever stretched between me and— and whatever this is. A better person would let you go, emma lath. But I can’t. I never could, not though you’ve warned me a dozen times in as many ways. _Tell_ me what you _want_. Is it about Fen’harel? Is my loss of faith disturbing? Do you wish me to pray? Is it _you_ that wishes to pray?”  
He laughed and it sounded wild and ragged even to his ears. “Yes. Let’s pray, Vhenan. I shall start.”

He wrenched himself back from her and stood apart, in the center of the bridge. She took a step toward him, but he’d already started the invocation and his spell sent a heavy shockwave from him, pushing her back, expelling the snow for a split second in a massive ring around him. She gasped, but he continued.  
“Mythal, athlan ma. Ama’ash. Ar eolasan ma elanas hartha.”  
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Mythal? I thought you said—”  
“She is not a god, but she cannot resist worship. None of them could,” he said, fighting the sneer in his voice. “She can hear. I swore an oath to her long ago.” He tore the wolf’s jaw from its threading around his neck and flung it. It skittered across the icy bridge. He half-hoped it would drop into the chilled water and never return, but the Inquisitor knelt and caught it.

“That one,” he said, but his hand clung to the leather strap that she had painted with veilfire. _That_ he would not part with. He tilted his face up. The snow was wet and clinging where it struck his bare face. “I fulfilled it,” he shouted. “I know you can hear, Mythal. I fulfilled my oath. Again and again. I am still honoring it. But where are you? All this time, I have suffered. My enemies have struck me again and again. Struck my people. And yet they go untouched.” He turned back to the Inquisitor. “I thought it was a bond between equals, Vhenan. I thought I was _free_.”

He pleaded with her, as if she could understand any of it, as if she could absolve him. She was still, watching him, the wolf’s jaw cooling in her palm. “More the fool, I,” he continued, “It was just another shackle in another form.” He wiped the snow from his cheeks. “But I bore it,” he began shouting again, as if the volume mattered to Mythal. But it felt good to scream it, and so he did. “I was a good slave all this time. And I will forgive the injustice, the unevenness. If you will give me this _one_ thing. Vir sulevanin. She refuses to claim it for herself, but I _will_ , Mythal. I claim it for me. A return for all I have lost.” He stopped to stare at the Inquisitor. His voice was soft, almost a whisper when he continued. It did not matter, Mythal could hear. “A return for all that I have yet to lose. Ama’ash. Ama’galin. Show me another way. Send me another to take my place. Let me stay. Let me stay.”

He clutched his head again and he could hear her footsteps running toward him. “ _Ar nan’ash_. Ar nan’ash.”  
Her arms were around him, the wolf’s teeth crushed into the back of his cloak, the warm press of her against him, around him. “Why? Why do you hate her? What has happened? What has changed in so short a time?”

But he was silent, shaking with rage. So much lost, so much injustice. And the centuries had dwindled to this one, and then the years had drained away to the paltry handful that were left. Soon there would be only months left, all the while a crazed magister led Solas on a merry chase for the one thing he desperately needed and Mythal waited. _Waited_. For what? A stubborn daughter? The Veil’s destruction? The Blight to swallow them all? She waited and watched and the People loved her. She let them fall, let them forget and fade and die, and still she was beloved. And _he_ , he had shielded them, fought for them, freed them. He tried to guide them back, tried to bring them what they had lost. In dreams and stories and in blood. And they cursed him. Twisted him. Doubted him. He had never cared. It wasn’t worship that he’d wanted. He’d thought he hadn’t even needed affection or gratitude. Had been satisfied, for centuries, with the friendship of the few who knew who he really was. But then— then someone had given him what he hadn’t even known he craved. Freely. Without expectation of a return. At the end of the world, when all that could happen was her death. And still Mythal waited.

“Ar nan’ash,” he said again, and pulled the Inquisitor still closer. “Let me stay.”“Then tell me _how_. I don’t know what you need. I don’t know why you need to go,” said the Inquisitor, wrapping her cloak around him.  
He took a deep breath and tipped her face up toward his. Her expression was still hard, determined. He took strength from it. “I need to get the orb back. It is the only way.”  
“Get it _back_?” her eyes widened with shock. “Oh, Solas— what happened? Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”  
“What would it have changed?” he asked helplessly. “I did not intend this. Any of it.”  
“It would have taken this weight from you. You would have had a friend who knew.”  
He shook his head. “You would have pushed me out. You would have been right to.”  
“No. I would not. It was an accident, was it not? It was not you in the Conclave, it was not you that opened the Breach.”  
“It was my magic that did it, even if I was not present.”  
“And this?” she asked, holding up her hand. The mark sparked in the warm darkness of her cloak.  
“Ir abelas, Vhenan. It is mine too.” He shut his eyes to avoid the sorrow he expected in her face. But she rose on her toes, pressed her cheek to his.  
“Then it has been your magic that repaired it, as well,” she whispered.  
“No,” he cried, even as he twisted his hand into her hair, “that I had nothing to do with. At best I have only kept it from killing you, thus far. It’s you, who have been repairing things. You restore all that you touch. It seems I have the opposite effect.”  
She laughed softly, and it was like a warm breeze blew through him. How could she laugh now? “Then we are a good pair. You must stay and break things so that I have something to occupy me.”  
He pulled back, bewildered at the gentle tease. “I don’t want to break _you_.”  
She shrugged, her smile spreading. “I’m more resilient than I look. I’ve lasted this far haven’t I?” She caught his fingers in her own and she grew serious. “ _Stay_ if you would stay. We’ll get it back, we’ll find the orb. We’ll repair what is wrong.” She pressed the wolf jaw into his palm. “The power of an oath is not in making it to another, dearest one, it is in keeping true to yourself. I don’t know who you have been, but you are _not_ a slave. Not now. All will be—”

“There they are. Kaffas, it’s cold. Don’t you two ever go indoors?” Dorian called from several feet away.  
“Storm’s meant to get pretty bad, Boss,” shouted Iron Bull. “Came out to make sure you’d make it to the city until it blows over.”  
She pressed a hand to his chest and then slid reluctantly away.


	60. Dirthamen's Temple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ik9QbIiZZDQ

“She heard.” Cole pushed through the deep mist of the raw Fade toward him. Solas’s sleep had been troubled, even with wards and he’d given up exploring, contenting himself with blank oblivion until the boy showed up.  
“I know,” he said flatly. “That was the intent.”  
“She answered.” Cole sat cross legged across from him. “Morrigan knows where the eluvian is.”  
“That is not an answer,” Solas scowled.  
“You asked her to send someone to take your place.”  
“Unless Mythal means to take it herself—”  
“She did not say. Only that Morrigan would lead you to the person who can do that. And the Inquisitor to Corypheus. Be ready. A month. I will be with you when it happens. Mythal promised.”  
“I would not rely on her word if I were you, Cole. I have made that mistake already.”  
“She was your friend. She _did_ protect you, as long as she could. But when she returned, you were already gone. She _was_ waiting, but it was not for Morrigan. It was for you. Your anger wounds her. She knows how you have been robbed. She said the same thing that you did.”  
“What was that?”  
“That sometimes justice must make way for mercy. She knows what she has asked of you is unjust. But will all the world suffer to repay what you have lost? Nothing less would be enough.”  
Solas ripped himself from the Fade, unwilling to face the grief that Cole heaped upon him.

He did not speak of the dream or the bridge. He could see the worry eating at the Inquisitor, but she would not ask while Dorian and Bull were in earshot, not now that she had learned about the orb. She wouldn’t risk exposing him to the others. Half of him wished she would. Wished she’d drive him away, or that someone else would. Take the impossible choice from him, put her beyond his reach.

  
He knew whose temple it was before they even entered. Unmarked and buried in the dark, it could only be one of Dirthamen’s. A week before, he would have been eager to unearth its secrets, to explore it. Now it was just a dirty, dark cavern of ancient suffering. Instead of the knowledge they might find, he could think only of the slaves that had lived here once. Dirthamen had the tongues of his faithful cut out, so they could not spill his secrets. The highest keepers of his temples also lost their hands, so that they could neither write nor cast. Living eyes. That was all they were. Eternal ears. His worshipers would whisper their secrets into the ears, never to be retold. It was deemed a great honor.

Solas hated them all. Hated Dirthamen for doing it, hated the temple keepers for submitting, hated the worshipers for using them. He fought against the irrational wrath that had been growing inside him since the bridge. He told himself that Mythal was sending help. That this temple didn’t matter, there would be no eluvian here. It was an idle curiosity, one he should enjoy uncovering, if only to spite Dirthamen. That the Inquisitor _loved_ him. Knew about the orb and loved him still.

Still, he struggled to remain calm until they entered and a wolf statue loomed up in the flicker of the veilfire torch. He recalled the one he had shattered in anger and the stricken sorrow of the Inquisitor just before. He could not hurt her again, not like that. It cooled him, even as he focused on the rune below the statue.  
“Why can I understand that?” rumbled Iron Bull beside him.  
Solas shrugged. “The secrets of this temple have remained unspoken for far too long. They wish to be known.”  
Dorian shuddered. “I’m not sure I wish to know them,” he said.  
“Better us than our enemy,” said the Inquisitor.  
“That is true,” admitted Dorian and followed her down the black corridor. Something farther ahead glowed against the dark. An altar, and atop a freshly bleeding severed head.

“Ugh,” said the Inquisitor, “Why can’t we ever go anywhere nice?” She crouched beside it. “Why is it still bleeding? The workers have been clearing the entrance for months. Except for a band of treasure hunters some weeks before our people arrived, no one’s been in or out.”  
“I imagine it is at least that old, if not older,” said Solas, “preserved by a spell, perhaps.”  
“Poor man. We should at least see to his burial.” The Inquisitor passed the torch to Iron Bull and picked up the head. She dropped it with a cry as the head screamed. The clack of bones echoed around them and Solas raised a barrier. Dorian was already flinging flame at a nearby corpse as it shambled toward them. Iron Bull grinned and jammed the torch into a bracket before drawing his axe with a roar. But there was only one, and he sagged with disappointment as Dorian finished it off.  
“Vashedan!” he swore, “I get the next one. I love the little pop their skulls make when they crack open.”  
“Charming,” observed Solas.

“Well, pick it up,” said Dorian shoving the Inquisitor’s shoulder.  
“But it— screamed. And it was _warm_.”  
“That’s because it is alive, or, at least, the creature connected to it is alive. It is only a part, there will be many to make up the whole,” said Solas.  
“Maybe— maybe this is unwise,” said the Inquisitor, staring at its empty eye sockets.  
“Come on Boss, you aren’t going to let a little dead skin bother you. I’ve watched you fry a man in his own fat before. More than once actually.”  
“Yes, sorora, go on, it’s just— just tidying up.” Dorian’s face was comic in its revulsion even as he goaded the Inquisitor on. “Besides, it’s for the advancement of magic, you know.”  
“Very well,” she sighed and pulled a kerchief from her pocket.  
“What’s that for?” asked Dorian. “You aren’t going to— Inquisitor, kerchiefs are for waving at gentlemen not bundling bloody bits— oh, for—” he broke off as the Inquisitor picked up the head and placed it carefully on the cloth.  
“Sorry for this,” she murmured to it, and covered its face. She turned to Dorian. “I couldn’t exactly carry it around by the hair, could I? And I didn’t like it looking at me. Even without eyes.” She opened her pack and placed it gently inside. “Come on, I don’t really want to carry it around longer than I need to.”

They moved on. Another pedestal and an older rune was rubbed out. Solas could feel the ancient veilfire beneath the newer, brighter one. “Dirthamen is gone,” it said. He had hoped most of the elves had fled the temples, had grasped their freedom even as the Veil descended upon them. But these— there was no where for these elves to go. Speechless, mutilated— they had none to aid them in their new reality. No guide to help them learn to exist without Dirthamen and without the offerings of goods and food that worshipers brought daily. He wondered how long they had survived and what they must have suffered.  
“Why a tongue?” asked Iron Bull from across the room. It lay on the altar, scarlet and lumpen.

“Dirthamen is— was the god of secrets,” said the Inquisitor. “A wagging tongue is the enemy of secrets.” She held out a hand to Bull. “Kerchief please.”  
“Oh, sorora, _no_ ,” insisted Dorian. “You’re ruining perfectly good cotton.”  
“I don’t want it to get lint on it,” said the Inquisitor. “What if this guy needs it later?”  
Solas was unsure whether to laugh or weep. It was an uncomfortable situation no matter how he looked at it. The head screamed from her pack again as she picked up the tongue and they all jumped. More bones clacked and this time, Bull was ready. He handed the torch to the Inquisitor and charged. A series of clatters ended abruptly and Iron Bull sighed with satisfaction.

They found one of the treasure hunters next, his body stretched beside a faded journal. Solas picked it up and paged through it. “It seems they turned on each other. They were here for many days. The magic in this place is not kind by nature. I suggest we make haste, I would not want it to begin to affect us as well.”  
“Wonderful news,” said Dorian. The corridor opened into a large, moonlit room. Another treasure hunter lay upon the floor, along with another journal, with a gruesome diagram. “It looks as if the— _bits_ are meant to be placed upon the pedestals in a certain order.” Dorian held up the page. “Like this.”  
Iron Bull scratched the base of one horn. “For what purpose?”  
Dorian shrugged.  
“I recommend caution,” warned Solas, “There is not telling where this ancient ritual will lead us.”  
“Perhaps we should stop,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Corypheus will not stop,” said Iron Bull.  
“Bull is right,” he agreed, “We must find what is here to prevent Corypheus from making use of it. I only wish us to be ready.”  
The Inquisitor spun around. “Looks as if we have for more parts to find.” She led them on. The eyes were next, rolling with a dull rattle against the altar’s bowl as she fumbled with them. The head screamed again. Dorian shook the Inquisitor’s pack.  
“Shut it, will you? Or I’ll cast a silence spell myself,” he yelled.

A priest rose to defend the altar this time. “Ir abelas, Lethallin,” murmured Solas as he froze it in place for Bull to finish off, “I ought to have remembered you.”  
The winding corridors grew still darker. Dirthamen’s mazes were irritating at best, Solas remembered as they wandered down the damp passageways. Nature was crumbling it. All of his precious secrets would lie open in the sun before much longer. It gave Solas a deep satisfaction to know.

Hands next, they closed around Lavellan’s and she shrieked in surprise and horror. It took both Dorian and Solas to suppress the magic long enough for her to pry them off and stuff them unceremoniously into her pack. No clean kerchief for _them_. He frowned at another wolf statue as they passed. The magic was beginning to itch at him. He wanted to be free of this place.  
The ears were in a small corner and the end of a twisting path. The Inquisitor picked up the small things with a frown. “These are human,” she said.  
“I think the treasure hunters might have replaced the original sacrifice,” said Iron Bull.  
“Let’s not continue the tradition, shall we? I rather like my ears staying in place,” said Dorian, cupping one.

They wandered farther and found an amplifier. She set it spinning with a flick of the mark. It was a cool, comforting wave that washed over him. The itch of the magic retreated. The Inquisitor looked around. “Where is the last? We’ve been everywhere.”  
“Do not be so sure, Vhenan, Dirthamen was partial to secret chambers and false walls. Look for a lever or an indent. We’d best spread out. Use your magic to sense the altar.”  
They dispatched more priests as they moved back toward the corridor. Solas hoped they would rest easy after the Inquisition had gone. They had earned that much, at least.

It was Iron Bull that found it. He heard it, the steady thud, thud, thud of the pulsing heart against the copper bowl. He carried it back to the Inquisitor, and even _he_ looked a little unsettled. “Let’s get this done, Boss.”  
None of them argued with that. The whole thing saddened him. He watched Dorian and the Inquisitor gently arrange the grisly tokens. Secrets for the sake of secrets, like power for the sake of power. Sheer greed. And it led only to madness. He felt his anger returning and swallowed it down. This was not the place. Not where it could be twisted against him. Against his friends.

The thing that named itself the Highest One sprang from the dais behind them. Faceless, it still shrieked and called the shattered bones of its victims to guard it. Iron Bull smashed through them one after another. The Inquisitor ran up the steps leading the priest out of the water. She didn’t dare use her lightning in the pools, she lost control too easily. It clawed at her and she ducked. He followed, freezing it in place for her. Dorian blasted it shattering an outstretched arm. Her spell sizzled and branched and Bull slammed into it as the lightning faded. It burst into shards and then dust.

“It is done,” sighed Solas. “This place will trap no others.”  
“Well, that’s a good deed done then, whether we find an eluvian or not,” said Dorian.  
“Not,” called the Inquisitor, standing in the open door of the inner sanctum. Solas squeezed her shoulder.  
“Don’t be discouraged. We were ahead of the Venatori and it is one more place Corypheus cannot use. There may not be an eluvian here, but there was a dark power he could have taken. It is dispersed now, he will not have the chance. And our people can rest at last.”  
“ _Our_ people?” she asked, surprised.  
“Yes,” he said, feeling the flush of embarrassment across his skin. “Ours.”


	61. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s927UDD_c-o

He knew it was coming. It was no surprise by then. In the beginning, he’d thought her anger a slow thing. As if her nerves were buried far below and it took ages for sensations to reach them. Or that they were dull and took repeated pricks for her to realize what was happening.

  
But it was not slow. Only careful. Precise and deep and deadly. So silent, like the Void itself until the very last moment. He hated when she was angry with him. It had shocked him more than once. Not this time though. It was almost a relief.

He’d emerged from the stale warmth of the tent into the brittle chill of the campsite. She was a shadow on the rock beside the campfire. He touched her shoulder and sat beside her. “It is fourth watch. Will you sleep?”  
She shook her head and made no move to leave. “I know you have trouble when your rest is interrupted. I could help, if you wish,” he offered, already bracing himself for the questions he knew were waiting.  
“It will be dawn soon,” she said, “and it is a special day.” She spread her fingers, staring at the mark.  
“A year since the Conclave. I know, Vhenan,” he said.

She dropped her palm into her lap and stared out at the pines that shivered in the rough wind. “Are you going to tell me about the orb and the mark and why you hate Mythal? Or are we going to keep pretending that the bridge never happened?”  
Her tone was flat, but he knew the doubt and hurt that seethed behind it. He tossed a log into the nearby fire and threw his cloak around her. “You should rest. We have time to speak of all those things when we return home.”  
“Time,” she whispered, her face pulling into a bitter frown, “You’re always playing for time. How long, Solas? When will you trust me? Haven’t I earned it by now?”  
“Long, long ago,” he said. “It is not betrayal that I fear. I am uncertain where to begin. It sounds a simple thing, but so much is tangled in what the orb is— if you have questions, perhaps we should start there.”

“Very well. What is it? You told me it was a focus of great power— but I suspect it is more. A focus does not transfer abilities to a stranger. And a focus wouldn’t make Corypheus immortal— yet the explosion should have killed him. He was not in the Fade with me. And the avalanche in Haven. I doubt there was another mineshaft for him to fall into. What was its real purpose? Where did it come from?”  
“I am still uncertain what helped Corypheus survive. Vivienne has been working on discovering his method while Dorian and I try to anticipate his next step. Whatever his method, it is not the orb, it doesn’t have that property. As for what it is— do you remember when we talked about uthenera?”  
She sighed and rubbed her cheek in frustration. “I don’t want another parable, Solas. I’m too exhausted to figure it out.”  
“No, no parable. No riddle. Just the truth as plain as I can make it.”  
“Then— yes. I remember speaking of it.”

“The orbs were made for Dreamers who entered uthenera. Dreamers were rare, just as today, and powerful, even in the days of Elvhenan. Many struggled just to master themselves when waking. But in the raw Fade, their magic was perilous. The living are— unaccustomed to restraint in dreams. Even practiced Dreamers have trouble keeping their emotions in check.” He smiled and passed a finger gently over her lips. “Obviously, I am no exception. And the longer the dream, the harder it becomes to control.”  
“Why?”  
“You must remember that dreaming did not last a single night in those days, but years, decades. Longer. Because the Fade reflects your own beliefs and expectations, it is not uncommon to become— lost in your own delusions. Those that returned from uthenera were often confused and shocked when they realized the physical world was not as they remembered, because none of their thoughts had a counter to challenge their ideas. Spirits do not protest. They may— grow and change slightly over time, but they do not choose to shift from their original purpose.”  
“But demons are just spirits twisted from their true selves, you have told me that many times.”  
He nodded. “Yes. That is so, but it is never of their own design. They were pushed into it because they try to please those they meet, even to the extent of betraying themselves. Every demon is someone’s wish or desire gone awry. Even the Nightmare. They do not oppose or challenge. They simply— _are_ the way we expect them to be. Hardly a worthy foil. It usually required companionship with another elf to maintain some hold on reality. And, indeed, many friends or loved ones entered uthenera together. But it was not always possible. Under normal circumstances, it was not particularly dangerous, even to wander the Fade alone. Most were not powerful enough to cause any lasting damage to themselves or others. But a Dreamer was different. A moment of weakness or madness could cause great destruction, both within the Fade and in the waking world. Their magic was too great if left unchecked. So the orbs were made. And when a Dreamer prepared for uthenera, he would give up a great portion of his power, embedding it in the orb. In this way, Elvhenan and the Fade were kept safe until he returned. Upon waking, the Dreamer was meant to activate it, and take back their abilities.”

He knew the question that was coming next, and the one that would come after. He dreaded it, and yet wanted it over. Wanted it done. He wished he hadn’t waited so long, that he’d told her at Skyhold. At least he could escape her hatred there. But they were on the road and he was bound to see her safely back, no matter her reaction. He told himself to stop holding his breath as she thought. She had been staring out into the dark as he spoke, still keeping watch. As if the threat were out there. As if it did not walk beside her, in her, every day.  
At last, she turned to face him. “How did you come by it, Solas? A ruin?”

He glanced toward the tent, wishing desperately for Dorian or Iron Bull to wake up. She touched his hand.  
“They will be asleep for hours. You will find no escape there. You must tell me or admit that you cannot,” she said, but it was not unkind. He ached to touch her face, to beg her again not to hate him. He reached out, but pulled back. The whole thing was too much of a violation. How had he done this to her?  
“It was created for me, long ago, before I entered uthenera. The orb is mine. The power in it, mine. The anchor that will kill you is mine.” He wanted to cover the silence in apology, in mourning for her, but it was _her_ sorrow he ought to consider, and so he waited. She reached out, traced the lines of his face with her hand, her expression slackened into a soft kind of wonder.

“You’re— you’re one of the immortals,” she whispered. “We thought you had all gone.”  
“Not all of us. There are others, but we are few and fading.”  
She drew back and the winter wind was colder on his skin than it had been a moment before. “We must be— we’re children to you.”  
“Perhaps, at first. But consider, I spent a very long time in dreams. The greater portion of my life. What I know of the waking world is not so different from what you know. I have learned much from the Fade, yes, but it does not all translate. When I woke, I was— confused and saddened. Our people were not as I remembered. Ages had passed. The Imperium had risen and been pushed back. The Qunari had appeared and their empire grown. The Chantry had formed and our people had fallen and wandered. I believed they were lost. That I could aid them. I _tried_ , my love, I did. But the legends that grew were immovable as stone and the fragments of us rattled around the world. People attempted to make sense of them, but it was impossible. I sought out the clans. I brought them the truth, but they didn’t realize it. How could they? My version was no more likely than theirs. Often I was pushed away, called mad or dangerous. I began to wonder if I was, indeed, a madman. Gradually, I gave up. And then— and then there was you. I am ashamed to admit it, but you were not a child to me when I first met you. A child strives to learn, to grow. And what I had seen of the Dalish—” he closed his lips around the brutal words and took a deep breath.

“I thought you less than a child, Vhenan. I thought you a— a beast, as I would think of a horse or a mule. Something to take care of and guard, certainly, but something of use. Not only you, but everyone I met upon waking. I was such a fool. Perhaps I am still. I mistook knowledge for wisdom and considered what we were superior to what we’ve become. I thought I knew better than anyone else. But every day, my assumptions have been upended, challenged. By the others, but by you most of all. You walk this world in ways that I cannot. You are beloved, not because of that thing in your hand, because you are kind and generous and wise. And you do not give up on people. Those are all things I can no longer claim of myself. When I look at you now, I do not see a beast or a child. I am not saddened or disappointed by who you are. If you had been born at the height of Elvhenan, all that would change is your number of years.” He placed her marked hand palm up in his. “My biggest regret is this. How many days has it stolen from you? If I could draw the poison from it and leave the power in your hands— If I could give you all the time I have had, you would live my years so much better than I have. Ir abelas. Sathan, tel’nan’em.”

It was so ugly. How could she do otherwise than hate him?  
She was shifting, tilting toward him, her hands warm on the back of his neck, her mouth by his ear. “I cannot hate you,” she said, but it was shaky, grief-stricken. A gust of warm breath stuttered past his cheek. “But if you care, even a little— I will help you retrieve the orb, no matter your answer. It cannot stay in Corypheus’s hands and you are its rightful owner. But _this_ , us— is it just convenience? Is this just the way you handle your horse? The truth, Solas, I need the truth, this once— I will find a way to let you go, if that is what you—”  
“ _No_. That is not what I want.” He could feel the sticky damp of tears on her face even before he pulled away to look at her. “Think me mad, if you will. Or cruel. Or a fool. I’ve earned that. But if you believe nothing else, do not doubt my love for you. It is _not_ convenient. It’s hard, loving you. You’re reckless and stubborn and constantly slipping farther from me. And in all my years, it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. It would have been so much easier to keep thinking of you as I did, to keep spinning my stories, to flirt and evade and flatter and then to discard you when I was finished with you. But you’ve shattered all my barriers, left me exposed to the world when I most needed my armor. I cannot even regret it, though it makes my task infinitely more difficult. You have good reason to distrust me. And I can think of no way to prove myself to you that is more meaningful than what we have already given each other. I do not blame you for questioning me. But don’t doubt your own power. I have no choice but to love you. And I’m constantly astonished that _anyone_ escapes loving you. I will never understand why you have chosen to return my love, but I have grown to need it above all other things. I—” he broke off, rubbing away the cold tracks winding over her cheeks. He took a deep, slow breath to calm himself. “I have long dreaded the day that I will have to exist without it. _That_ is why I have played for time. It was all I could do. But I can see it is right, now that the day has arrived—”  
She pressed her fingers over his mouth to stop him. “It has _not_ ,” she cried. She pressed her lips to his and they were chilled and bitter with salt. It was how he knew he was not dreaming. “I told you it would not matter if you were one of the Forgotten Ones, themselves. I wasn’t lying.” Her words stuttered between them, over him. “What would I care for a few millennia?”

He could feel her small smile as it brushed over his mouth, but it dissolved in the next moment. “But I do not wish to be a— a broken toy—”  
“Never that. Not even at my most ignorant. Never.”  
“Then— do not dread any more. I wish that you had been honest from the start, but I know why you weren’t. The worst is over and I am still here.”  
“It isn’t,” he said and covered his face with one hand, the other wrapped tight around her. He felt her stiffen.  
“What? There is more?”  
He was silent, but it was enough for her to sink back, to put space between them.

“How did Corypheus get it? I had assumed it was stolen, but he has not had it long. And you are— _normal_. What happened? How did such a thing come to be unguarded?”  
He dropped his hand. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I was never supposed to wake, I begged Wisdom to leave me in peace, to find another, but it would not. I didn’t leave enough power within myself to activate the orb. You have no reason to believe me, but I must ask it of you anyway. There were so few in this world that still had the power to open it. And I had— _have_ reason to believe I did not have sufficient time to accumulate enough through other means to restore myself. Corypheus had the strength I needed. It should have killed him—”  
She sucked in a shocked breath. “You _gave_ it to him?”  
“I allowed his Venatori to find it. I believed it was just. It was he that loosed the Blight upon the world after so many had labored to push it back, to seal it away. It was he that polluted the ruins of my city. It was he that damned us all. And he sought still more. His death was deserved. I didn’t know he would do it at the Conclave— I am uncertain why he did so. I expected him to attempt to activate the orb as soon as he received it. And that he survived— I don’t know what happened. None of you were meant to be caught in this. You were never even to know that I’d wakened. It was a terrible mistake. But every way I turn, the path seems darker and my choices fewer.”  
“The path to what? Why are you running out of time? What is meant to happen?”  
He traced the path of the mark up her wrist with his thumb. “I _mean_ to save us.”  
“From _what_?”  
“From Corypheus first.”  
“And then?”  
“Please, Vhenan, let what comes after be. I cannot bring myself to push you farther from me for something that may never happen.”  
She pulled her hand from him. “How can I believe you if you will not give me the truth? How can I help you if I don’t even know what threatens you?”  
“I give you my word, I will not take back the orb without first telling you. But I would not add more grief to you. It is unnecessary. And it cannot help. Nothing can be done until Corypheus is gone. Give me that long, I beg you. Cole has pushed me into telling you this much, he will surely give you the rest of the story, should I fail to do so. If you cannot take my word, then rely on him.”

She was silent a moment and then stood. He thought she meant to leave, but she paced in the snow instead. She didn’t look at him, or anything else in particular. The quiet made him uneasy, but that she hadn’t pushed him away gave him hope.  
“So it wasn’t me, but Cole, who finally convinced you. Did you ever mean to tell me at all?” she asked, stopping abruptly.  
“Every day. Every moment since we arrived at Skyhold. But each time I tried— I found that courage failed me. I convinced myself that it was— better this way. That the truth could only hurt you. What good would it have done for you to know? What good has it done now? I have only heaped grief and worry upon you. Neither of us can change the past.” _Not yet_ , he thought. “Better I had stayed silent.”  
“Yes,” she agreed and began pacing again. He felt a twinge of irritation, but tried to let it pass. She rounded the turn and began walking back toward him. “You made me believe we were blameless—”  
“You _are_. You had no hand in this. There are none to blame but—”  
“That it was all a hideous accident.”  
He stood up. “It _was_. I never intended this.”  
“You convinced me that I could save our people from the wrath of the humans if I just stopped Cor—”  
“So now you would lay that charge at my feet as well? I am responsible for the cruelty of the _Shemlen_?” He followed her into the snow, forgetting his watch.  
“You will be when they discover who handed the enemy his power.”  
“How is it different from the hundreds of other things that have fallen into Tevinter hands? Weapons and art and people all twisted to evil. Centuries of misery at the hands of the humans and you would single out this lone act? I meant it to avenge us. Would it be better if I let it remain locked and useless? That I let all of us dwindle and pass out of this world without any resistance?”  
Her eyes flashed in the dim light and she turned her back on him and walked farther into the dark. “It would have been better if you _aided_ us,” she called over her shoulder, “If you did not hide in dreams for centuries letting us be slaughtered and enslaved.”

She knew how to sting the sorest parts of his conscience, even without knowing the truth. He stalked after her, listening for her footstep, her breath ahead of him. Her fists were closed and the anchor did not glow to tell him where she had gone. “How much you could have taught us, if you had started years ago.” Her voice floated past him and he reached out, but she was not there. “Before the legends. Before the world wore us away into ruins and fragments and refugees.”  
“Are the elves so diminished that they could not save themselves? They must always rely on _me_? Are there no others who could lead them?” he cried.  
“Always?” she murmured beside him. It struck him that she did not mean to say it aloud. Her footsteps moved away. “Is the world so diminished that it cannot rally to defeat Corypheus without me? Are there no others who can fight him?” she asked instead, “I do not stay because there are no others. I stay because I am someone who can fight, too. The anchor may have stopped him, but I could have gone after the Breach was closed. I could have hidden away while others defeated him.”  
“This _was_ my way to fight. To rescue us all—”

A flash of aqua light splashed into the snow where she’d hurled a ball of veilfire between them. “Then why didn’t you tell us? Why do you refuse to tell me still? Why won’t you let me help you fight whatever it is you think is worse than he?” She was shouting at him, her shadow a long, wicked blade against the snow in the small clearing she’d led them to.  
“Because there is nothing you can do to help! Only I can—”  
“You’re so _stubborn_. You’d rather risk the extinction of our kind by handing that monster a weapon of terrible power than accept aid. Why are you so convinced that only _you_ can save us?”  
“Because I’m the one that killed you!” he roared. “It was _me_. I’m the reason there are no more immortals. I’m the reason that mages are feared and despised. I’m the reason we’re slaves and wanderers.” He was sweating, though the predawn air was cold enough to steal breath, and a dim part of him was horrified at how much he’d just told her, but it was subsumed under the raw anger she’d pushed him into.  
She scoffed. “Because of the _orb_? We were mortal for millennia before Corypheus. You give yourself too much cre—”  
“Void take the orb!” He flung a pulse of magic toward a boulder on the far edge of the clearing. It shattered into dust and the earth beneath rent with a low rumble. The Inquisitor flinched but did not move. “You see? I grow stronger even without it. It is but a portion of what I am.”  
“Then what _are_ you?” she cried, uncowed and furious.  
“Fen’harel,” he snapped.  
She sighed and seemed to sag a little. “There it is,” she said.

The strangling haze of frustration seemed to lift a little at the soft relief in her voice. “Yes, there it is,” the sorrow crept back around his edges. He had nothing to battle it back with except anger. “Now you know. Does it make you happy to know what you’ve professed to love?”  
The light of the veilfire flickered and mixed as her fists unclenched and the green of the anchor bled into the space between them. “It makes me happy to know you are finally free,” she said. “That you needn’t carry this alone.”  
“What?” he took a step back in confusion.

“Forgive me, emma lath,” she said, circling the flame to reach him. “I believed that love had taken us as far as it would. I had to try something else. I had to make you forget that you believed me fragile. I had to make you stop trying to protect me.”  
“This was— _intentional_? You’ve exposed me for— what?”  
“Exposed you?” She looked around the clearing as if expecting someone to stride out of the pines. “Who have I given your secret to? There is no one here but us.”

He turned. She was right. He had followed her in a rage and had no idea where they had gone, or how far. They were no longer in sight of the camp. Her fingers touched his cheek and he flinched and grabbed her wrist too hard. She didn’t pull away or cry out, but he felt the grinding click of her old wound beneath his thumb and let go as if it had burned him. “And I already knew who I loved,” she said. “Who I still love. A name cannot change that.”  
“But what I’ve done—”  
She smiled but her eyes were wet. “Everyone makes mistakes, Solas. Even gods.”  
“I am not a god.”  
“That is good,” she said, “because I am not as confident as Ghilan’nain.” She tried again to touch him, pressing her hand to the center of his chest, as if she meant to soothe the violent thud of his heart.

“You think me mad,” he said, realizing that she wasn’t frightened. She’d been more shocked to believe him immortal.  
“I don’t know,” she admitted, taking his tacit permission to come still closer. “A part of me wants to believe something has— happened to you. Yet to think you have borne a trauma great enough to do this— I cannot hope for that. Maybe I should believe you overreach. That you take his name in order to further some cause. You would not be the first. But then—” She looked up into his face. “You know things I cannot explain. You have shown me things I don’t think anyone else has ever found. Not even Dreamers.”  
“It is not a title I ever wanted to claim. Not even at the start,” he said. “It has been useful, at times. But it has never been a happy thing. I would abandon it if I could.”  
“I know the feeling,” she said. “I imagine the name has only grown in the thousand years since it was last worn. A hundred legends. A thousand stone statues. How much is true? My mother used to warn me that Fen’harel ate the souls of the wicked while they slept. What did you do to that guard in Halamshiral, Solas?”

He rubbed the skin of her wrist carefully, pulling away the bruises he had made. His throat ached with grief. She meant to go. She must. “I would not harm you if you chose to leave,” he said. “You need not fear me, no matter what the stories say.”  
She touched his brow again and this time he didn’t stop her. He wanted to lean into her. “I have feared you since the day I woke,” she said. “You are a fell thing. Clever and subtle and strong. But you are also just and kind and beautiful. I think it is far more dangerous for me to stay. But that is what I choose. If my choice has any sway.”  
He shook his head. “You don’t believe me, but you will see—”  
“I already _see_. What difference does a name make? It is only the wind shaped around a few sounds. I know who _you_ are. You think you’ve kept this terrible secret, as if it made up the entirety of you.” She pulled him down toward her. “But everything you’ve done since I’ve known you strives to put those stories to shame, to put the mistakes right. If I disbelieve, it is only because I have seen you as you truly are. You are no harellan. You are not cruel or capricious. Maybe that is only because the stories are false. But— if you are what you say, I wish you to do one thing for me.”  
“Anything that lies within my power is yours, Vhenan. What is it you would have?”  
She stared at him a long moment. “Don’t give up on us. On this world. Find your teeth, Dread Wolf. _Fight_ for us. Fight for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two again this time, but long ones. Will try to pick up the pace soon!
> 
> Also: I could write out a hundred reasons why this chapter works better here than later in writing and works better later rather than here in a medium like a game, but that would be boring for us all. So. I leave it at: it's a different version and move on. I did try to shift it, if it makes you feel better.


	62. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlRLvaXVyk8

“Why is your heart so fast still? I thought our words would bring you some peace.” Her ear was pressed to his chest. He pulled his cloak farther around them both. The rising sun did little to warm the frigid campsite and the fire had long died down to coal.  
“Because you do not ask questions, but I know they are waiting,” he said, without taking his gaze from the horizon.  
“Dozens of them,” she muttered, “but they have waited this long. They will hold until we are home.” She lifted her head, a sharp expression of anxiety crossing her face. “Unless you mean to run from me.”  
“No,” he smiled and pressed the lines from her forehead. “I know too well where that would lead. You would only chase.”  
She sank back against him.

  
“I would ask one, while we are alone still. Just one.”  
“Ask then, we have little enough time.”  
“If you are— was Mythal your lover?” she asked without looking at him. She was still, as if even her breath waited for his answer.  
“There are none, living or dead, who should cause you jealousy,” he said.  
“I don’t ask out of jealousy.”  
“Why then?”  
“I wish to know my fate. Will you hate me, too, when I am no longer here to persuade you to love me?”  
“Oh, my love, I spoke harshly out of despair and anger. I do not hate her. Not truly.” He pulled her up. “No,” he said, “Mythal was not my lover. She was— _is_ an old friend. An ally. But that was not really what you were asking. Many things have changed in the span of my life. More than even I expected. This will not. Even if I lived twice as long again, I would never hate you. There is not time enough left in the world for that.” He kissed her and the sad sound in her throat distressed him. “And it took far less persuasion than you realize,” he whispered and was relieved to see her smile in gold glow of the morning sun.

It only got colder as they approached Sahrnia. Even Iron Bull had disappeared into a large bundle of furs.  
“This isn’t natural,” he grumbled at last.  
“Thank the Maker!” said Dorian. “If _I’d_ said it, you would have accused me of Northern delicacy.”  
“There is definitely something wrong,” said the Inquisitor. Her teeth were chattering. “Did you see the boats along the river? Whatever froze it was so fast that the fishermen couldn’t even row ashore in time.”  
“Maybe the locals will know more. There’s a decent inn in Sahrnia. The Chargers and I did a job here a good two years ago, now. At least we’ll be warm while we figure it out.”  
“Take care, Commander Cullen received word that there was a heavy concentration of red templars in the area,” said Solas. “They are probably limited to the Keep, but we would do well to keep qui— ahh!” he hissed and clutched his head at the sudden stab of pain. Dorian stumbled as well and the Inquisitor was rubbing her temples and squinting.  
“What _is_ that?” asked Iron Bull. “Do you hear that sound? It’s like singing—” he turned to see the rest of them in pain. “Oh shit, what’s wrong?”  
The Inquisitor raised a clumsy barrier around them and it pushed back the agony a bit.  
“Red lyrium,” gasped Solas, “Lots of it. And close.”

They looked around. It wasn’t hard to pick the scarlet out against the stark snow.  
“Vashedan. That’s more than I’ve ever seen in one place before,” said Bull. The stumbled toward the massive ridge of crystals and even Iron Bull began to feel an ache in his skull.  
“Smash it, Bull,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Are you sure that’s—” started Dorian, but Iron Bull was already roaring and swinging his ax at one end of the ridge. The Inquisitor was blasting the other side with her spells. The relief was immediate, though the jarring sound as they shattered set his teeth on edge.

  
“Where did it all come from?” asked Bull.  
Dorian shook his head. “I haven’t seen this much since Redcliffe. Or maybe the Breach. It could be that some powerful magic corrupted the lyrium below the ground here and the sudden frost caused them to erupt.”  
“Varric’s friend said it was organic. That it was lyrium corrupted by Blight,” said the Inquisitor.  
Solas knelt beside the broken pieces and picked up a few shards.  
“What are you doing?” yelled Dorian, “Don’t _touch_ it.”  
“If we don’t study it, how will we know what created it? Or how to cleanse it?” he asked evenly. He looked up. “I don’t suppose anyone has a handkerchief?”  
Dorian snorted. “Mine are all wrapped around bloody ears and things. You can’t mean to take it with us— wasn’t that headache enough for one day?”  
“This small amount won’t affect us, especially if we do not come into prolonged contact.”  
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” said Iron Bull and handed him a leather pouch. “Take it. Out of horn balm anyway.”  
Solas thanked him and tried to ignore the worried look the Inquisitor shot him.  
“Let’s hope it’s the last of it. At least until we get to Suledin,” she said. “I expect the Venatori have more there.”  
Dorian helped him up. “Come on, it’s too cold to sit here and stare at it. Let’s get to the inn at least.”

But Sahrnia was no more than a jumble of leaning walls without roofs or windows. Or heat. Or food. The Inquisitor handed him her bag of travel rations. “There are people here that haven’t eaten in days. I know too well what that is like. My belly can stand an empty night. Give it to them. I’ll send agents for more supplies. The Inquisition has a surplus and we have hunters who have been idle too long. I’ll join you down in the town after arrangements are made.”

She didn’t ask the others, but they pulled their own rations from their packs and headed down into Sahrnia.  
Aside from a small group huddled around a meager fire and the mayor still in the lone standing structure, they saw no one. “Where is everyone?” Bull asked a pinched looking woman. She chewed the strip of jerky they’d given her with a kind of fury that hurt Solas to see.  
“Gone,” she managed around a mouthful. “The templars come every night and take more. They say they’re going to work in the quarry. That they’ll have food and shelter there. I tried to go with them a few times, but they only wanted strong workers and—” she lifted her skirt to show them a poorly healed ankle. “Anyway, stopped trying after I noticed they never came back, nor sent help to their families. They’ll probably take me anyway, some night. Running out of others.”

Dorian handed her a cup of wine and turned to Solas. “My headache’s back. How’s yours?”  
He nodded. “There’s more here.”  
“Maybe that’s what their doing in the quarry,” said Iron Bull under his breath. “I can’t imagine templars being terribly interested in azurite. Especially not interested enough to recruit extra labor.”  
“That’s not good,” said Dorian.  
“We should head there first. If they are mining red lyrium, it’s better we knock out their supply. The keep is a nice target, but without the lyrium, we can cut the strength out from underneath Corypheus. Or Samson at least,” said Solas.

He was glad their stomachs were empty when they came to the first cages. The barriers did little to push back the effect of so much lyrium, and he was dizzy and nauseated. His spells were clumsy and dangerously overpowered. The quarry was patrolled by red templars and Iron Bull had more than one close call from Solas’s own hand.  
“Ah, Dorian,” he shouted, slamming his ax into another crystal, “These furs stink when they’re singed. Watch the fireballs.”  
“Sorry— it’s just— I can’t seem to hold back. It’s like a flood of power, it has to go somewhere,” said Dorian. “And this pounding ache, I feel like my skull will split.”  
“We should retreat, rest,” gasped the Inquisitor. She swayed unevenly.  
“Yeah, Boss, I think that might be best. We’ll come back in a little while and try again,” said Iron Bull. He grabbed her under the arm to keep her from stumbling.

They were running toward the quarry ramp when they heard the shouts. Solas looked around. For a moment he thought it a group of undead in the caged tumbrel. Their skeletal hands stretched out of the bars, pleading for aid.  
“Inquisitor,” said Solas, “I think we’ve found the missing villagers.”  
She looked where he was pointing and ran to help, pulling on the bars, on the lock, grasping the hands that reached out to her.  
“Help us!” cried one of the men. “They’re going to make us like them. Please! They wait until we’re starving and then feed us the red powder mixed into our food. We’ve lost so many. We can’t hold out much longer.”  
Iron Bull pushed the Inquisitor gently back. “Stand away from the door,” he said. The villagers stumbled to the rear of the cart. “Can you freeze it?” he asked Solas. “It will break easier.”  
Solas shot a thin spray of frost over the metal lock. He could hear it cracking even before Bull shattered it with the ax. They helped the frail people out. They were barely more than bone and rag. A few had already died and lay frozen to the bottom of the cart. They crowded around touching and weeping and thanking. Iron Bull pulled off his massive fur coat and pulled it around three of them. Solas knelt to help heal the blackening frostbite on their toes.

“There are more of us. Or there were. I counted at least ten other carts on the way in, but I don’t know how many survive. Even if they are gone, you have to kill the templars, Inquisitor. _Please_. They will not stop until you do. They’ll come and take us again in a night or two. We will not survive that.”  
“Yes,” she said, “Of course. We’ll find the others. We’ll stop the templars and clear the lyrium. The Inquisition is bringing food. The first shipment should be in Sahrnia by nightfall.”  
“Thank you,” said the man and burst into tears. She patted his hand awkwardly.  
“You never need to thank us for this,” she said. “We’ve cleared the way back to town— but can you make it?”  
“Yes, yes, we’ll be fine, just help the others.” He turned to gather up the others.

Dorian waited until they disappeared down the road and then braced himself on a tree and retched. Solas handed him a warmed flask of water. He looked up at the Inquisitor. “I love you, sorora,” he said, “you know that. I’d leap into the Abyss for you if you asked. But I don’t know that I can watch this part all over again. I am sorry.”  
She nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “These people will need help. I don’t think they will make it back to Sahrnia on their own. Especially in small groups as they are. Start a fire. Get them warm near the quarry entrance. The Inquisition forces should be only a few hours behind us. I’ll send them out to you. Keep them safe until the soldiers arrive with food and medicine. It’s all we can do for them.”  
Dorian nodded. “I can do that. Thank you. I’m sorry—”  
“Don’t be sorry, Dorian,” she said, “The lyrium is making us all useless, except Bull. When the soldiers catch up, send a message home. Ask for the others. Except Vivienne. I think our magic is making this harder.”  
“You’re sending us away?” asked Solas.  
Iron Bull clapped his back. “Look, you can barely stand up straight. I hear that weird song, but it isn’t killing me. The Boss will be safe with me and the others. She won’t be worn through keeping up barriers just to move. And I won’t be in danger of catching fire,” he said with a grim laugh. “We need you working on finding out about this red shit. In case one of us gets poked by it or breathes it in or— whatever.” He shuddered in disgust. “Let’s get these people out of here and get the Boss somewhere she can rest.”  
Solas swallowed his objections. They were irrational and Iron Bull was right. They moved on, parting with Dorian at the entrance to the quarry.

“What did Dorian mean, he couldn’t watch this part ‘again’?” asked Iron Bull after they’d freed the third cart of people and sent them to Dorian’s bonfire.  
“This is what the Venatori were doing in Redcliffe. I thought we’d altered enough to stop this, but it just happened somewhere else.” She flung a branching sizzle of lightning at a large crystal. “They aren’t mining the crystals from the ground. Not these ones at least. They’re growing them. The quarry was just out of the way enough to hide what they were doing until they’d taken too many villagers to allow the remaining ones to mount an effective resistance. The templars are mixing red lyrium into the food they give to the prisoners. It grows inside them and slowly overtakes them. Or— not so slowly in this case.” She reached for Solas’s fingers and he folded them around hers. “It’s what they did to each of you, in that other world. You were dying. All of you. Maybe the whole world.”  
“Oh, Boss,” sighed Iron Bull.  
“These crystals were people once. It was an agonizing way to die.”  
“Then let us prevent any more from suffering,” said Solas. His head throbbed and the lyrium was making him feel drained now, instead of strong. It had to end. He could only imagine the pain she was in. They did not speak much after that, just bent to their task and scoured the quarry for more carts.

The templars were in relatively light occupation. At any other moment, Solas might have worried about it, anticipating heavy resistance in the keep. Instead, he felt only relief as they ended the last lieutenant and cleared out the last of the accursed crystals. Even Iron Bull was flagging and the Inquisitor appeared exhausted. The dark hollows beneath her eyes made him uneasy and he pulled her in to lean on him as they shuffled back toward Dorian.  
“I’m all right, emma lath,” she said softly.  
“Very good,” he said without releasing her. “I am not. I require your arm, if you will permit it.”  
She relaxed into him.  
“Bad hips, you know,” he whispered and she laughed.

Inquisition forces had arrived while they worked and Dorian had a brisk, efficient camp waiting for them. The rescued villagers were almost all bandaged and fed. Most were sleeping. Bull sank down beside the bonfire with a relieved huff. Dorian handed him a steaming cup of wine.  
“The others are on the way,” he said, handing another to Solas and to the Inquisitor. “Cassandra was not far, just a day out of Val Royeaux. She’ll be here ahead of the others.”  
“Thank you,” said the Inquisitor. “I will be glad to see her.”  
“Vivienne is sending a barrier rune she and Dagna made. She says it should help diminish the red lyrium’s effects, especially in the long term.”  
The Inquisitor nodded her thanks.

“You need sleep,” Solas said gently.  
“You all do,” said Dorian.  
“Not me. Food first,” laughed Bull.  
“I don’t think I can eat,” she muttered. Solas stood up and held out a hand to help her up. She followed him into the large tent.

“I don’t want to go,” he said, sitting beside her.  
“I don’t want to let you go.” She pulled off her boots with a tired sob. “I’m afraid you won’t be there when I get back.”  
“That is not something you need to fear.” He touched the drawn, chilled skin of her face. “Let me stay beside you.”  
“No, Iron Bull is right. We are next to useless between the lyrium and the templars.”  
“Come with me then. Let the others take the keep. They are strong and skilled. And they know what we are looking for. Trust in your friends.”  
“I would, but there are still rifts here. I will be all right. I’ll let the others take the lead. I can do that much.” She sank back into the bedroll. “I’ll send a raven every day. It won’t be long. A week perhaps. I will be just behind you.”  
“Let me visit you. Let me find you in the Fade.”  
She smiled, her eyes closed. “You don’t trust me to send the raven?”  
“I believe the time escaped you during your last trip. I didn’t receive as much word as I’d have liked.”  
She dissolved into laughter. “We aren’t quarreling this time. I don’t think Cassandra will be quite as angry with you.”  
“Please,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms. “I have so much to show you, if you wish it. Arlathan as it was. The memory of Terasyl’an Te’las before it was named. The untouched forests of the Dales.”  
“It will only lead to more questions,” she warned.  
“There are more that I can answer now, Vhenan.”  
“Yes,” she said curling into him, “Find me. Let me see you at home. Still mine. Safe. Away from the terrible bloody fever of this place.” She traced his eyelid gently. “I never want to see the red in your eyes or hear the Blight in your voice again. I am no more able to witness it than Dorian was.”

He was silent. Cole’s words echoed loudly in his head. There had to be a way to stop it. There had to be a way not to leave her behind in this failing world, to save her from watching everyone she’d ever known succumb to the Blight. “Sleep now,” he said at last, “Dream of summer and green rivers and silver halla. I will find you.”  
“Don’t leave before I wake.”  
“No. I would not leave our dream together until I am forced from it.”


	63. Castling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjHvYVHf4BY&index=45&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“That thing you call her— the Boss says it means ‘heart’.” Iron Bull slung Dorian’s pack onto his horse.  
“Yes,” said Solas, tying his own securely to the saddle.  
“Like ‘kadan’.”  
Solas looked over at him, confused about the sudden interest. “Like ‘asala’,” he said. Iron Bull nodded. He was silent a moment and Solas turned back to the tack on his horse.  
“We don’t like asking for help, you and I,” Bull stammered. Solas looked up again but Bull was concentrating on the horse. “And you know I’d take dragon’s breath for the Boss even if she _wasn’t_ what she is. It’s not an ultimatum…” he trailed off. Solas waited. “Listen, it’s just— I’ve got yours— your Vhenan. Your asala. And we’ll be fine. I’ll keep her out of that red shit if I have to swallow the damned crystals myself. But you— you’ve got _mine_.”  
“I know,” said Solas evenly. “It isn’t something you need to ask. You know that I won’t abandon him on the field. Or off. Just as I know you wouldn’t leave her.”  
“But I _do_. I need to ask. For me. For my own peace of mind. He dreamed of Redcliffe last night. He won’t tell you, he wouldn’t tell me, but I know. He woke up shaking. He’ll drink too much, if you don’t stop him. Make himself sick to stop the dreams.”  
“I’ll stop the dreams. I wish I’d known earlier. I’ll keep us away from inns. It’s probably better we don’t travel publicly anyhow. As for his own supply—”  
“I took care of it already,” said Bull.  
Solas nodded.  
“When you get back to Skyhold—”  
“We have plenty of work to distract him. I’ll make certain of it.”  
Iron Bull fell into silence. It made Solas uneasy, as if he’d said the wrong thing.  
“He’s my _friend_ , Bull. I’ll keep him well.”  
“Yeah. I know you will. Of course.” Bull stepped away from Dorian’s horse, having nothing else to do. “I just— you _know_ what he means.”  
“I do. He means home after you have lost yours. And the only thing sacred in the muck and blood and disease of the world. And a moment with him is like a lungful of breath between drowning. I know, Bull,” said Solas.  
“Good. I wanted to be sure.” Iron Bull paused, then nodded once, and led Dorian’s horse away.

Skyhold was too empty without the others. It was easy to occupy himself and Dorian on the way. It had been quiet and they’d argued their way through the most effective barrier circumference, whether reverse possession was possible, and what caused variations in latent magical talent discovery. Everything except lyrium. Or the Blight.

  
It was more difficult once they were home. The absence was bigger. Even with the soldiers and the merchants, the cooks and stablehands and mages. It seemed empty. But there were ravens waiting for them, as the Inquisitor had promised. Short messages, necessarily bland because of the eyes they had to pass under, but a comfort nonetheless. Solas had not seen her, as _he_ had promised, because he had been guarding Dorian’s sleep or sitting with him when he refused. He hoped she understood. The Herald’s Rest would be a problem, but for the moment, Dorian was too exhausted and Solas did not press when he left for his bed. He had work to do. And a favor to ask.

Vivienne was engaged in her own correspondence when he found her. “What can I do for you, Solas?” she asked without glancing up.  
“I have a request. There are very few I would trust with it. Except for the Inquisitor and possibly the Hero of Ferelden, I do not expect anyone other than yourself to know about it.”  
Vivienne pushed her letter away and looked at him for a long moment. “Very well, Solas, I’m intrigued. But if this is more of your Fade nonsense—”  
He shook his head. “It is not. I would not ask you for anything of that nature.”

She held out her hand to a nearby chair, indicating that he should sit. He handed her a small book and then took the seat. She opened it, paging slowly through. “What is this? Solas— this is— where did you come by this?”  
“It is a copy of my research from long ago. Please take care of it, I have made very few and the memory is a difficult one to locate.”  
“Did it work?”  
His eyes slid closed for a moment. “In a manner of speaking. It pushed back the Blight for a time, but it always returned eventually. Sometimes rapidly, sometimes it took— a lifetime. I never discovered what made the difference.”  
“Why didn’t you publish? This might have saved lives in the last Blight.”  
There was no way to tell her the truth. Solas shrugged with a sad smile. “Who would believe an unwashed hobo apostate?”

She closed the book. “Ah, so that’s what this is. You want me to use my connections to get you published. It will have to be tested—”  
“No! No, that is not what I’m asking from you. It cannot be published until we are certain it works reliably.”  
Vivienne laughed in shock. “Why ever not, my dear?”  
“I don’t wish to cause a panic. When we— _you_ are certain it is perfect, then, please, publish it. Put your name on it. Use it to regain the position you’ve long deserved. But until then— I would ask that you and the Hero remain the only ones who know of it.”  
“If it isn’t for my connections, why would you tell _me_? And why do you care about my position? It is not one you’ve supported in the past.”  
“Because I think you can solve it.”  
“Solve what? The Blight?” she laughed in disbelief. “Do you have any idea how many people have tried?”  
He allowed himself a smile. “Are you suggesting you are any less skilled than they have been, Enchanter?”

She huffed and opened the book again. He leaned forward to catch her eye. “It isn’t every day that someone attempts an elixir of youth.”  
Her face saddened. “It failed,” she said.  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes our best efforts do, through no fault of our own.”  
“This could too.” She held up the book.  
Solas shrugged. “It already has. But that doesn’t mean it was useless.”  
“Then why aren’t _you_ researching it?”  
He pulled Iron Bull’s pouch from his pocket. The lyrium shards clicked inside. “I am. But I reached a dead end long ago. The Hero of Ferelden has been searching for an answer to the Calling. I don’t know what she’s found, but perhaps this will help her.”  
Vivienne folded her arms. “What are you hiding, Solas?”  
He wanted to sigh, but he hid it with a smile. “So direct, Enchanter. It is hardly worthy of your skills in the Game.”  
“Hmm. We would be here all night and neither of us enjoys the company of the other enough for that. You are asking me to devote time and resources— and probably political capital eventually, to something I am not even certain will work. I at least deserve to know _why_ and why now, specifically.”

“The red lyrium that Corypheus is using came from the blood of a titan. Varric and his brother were the first to find it, that I know of, but they won’t be the last. It’s infected with Blight. And it’s massive. There could be a thousand like Corypheus, each with its own army of red templars and not even come close to touching the sea of disease that lies beneath Ferelden. It’s coming, Vivienne, no matter what the Inquisition does. No matter what the Gray Wardens do. Our only chance is to find a way to cure it. Ourselves or the Titan. I would not see all that the Inquisition has done, all that we have suffered to accomplish, undone in a month, a year, a decade by another ambitious madman.”

She watched him for a long while. He sighed. “I would not see _her_ touched by it, not after all that she has fought for. And yet, you know she would be first into the Deep Roads if it came while the Wardens were still banished.”  
“I told you to put away the Game,” she said, “you have had some other motive this entire time. I am no novice that you can intimidate or flatter into obedience. If you want my aid, you will need to be honest.”  
“You are right, Vivienne. The Inquisition’s goals and mine align for the time being, just as yours do. My soul is not Andrastian and I have my own reasons for becoming involved. But _this_ is not something that will further those reasons. I gave up long ago, but now— The only personal gain I seek in this is to shield the Inquisitor. Long past the life of the Inquisition itself. She is not part of the Game and I would not risk her by deception.”  
“You _truly_ love her, don’t you?”  
He touched her hand. “As dearly as you loved Bastien,” he said.

Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she looked away. He drew back, fearing he’d overstepped. “Very well,” she said sharply. “I will need time to review what you have already discovered and decide whether it seems a likely path.”  
“Thank you,” he said, standing.  
“Solas— hundreds of others have failed,” she warned.  
“I know,Enchanter,” he smiled, “But none of those hundreds were you.” He offered her a low bow and she tilted her head in return.

He found Leliana waiting by his door. “Something I can assist with, spymaster?” he asked.  
Her lips thinned into a frustrated line. She handed him a scroll. “Today’s raven,” she said.  
“Thank you,” he answered. She waited as he unrolled it.

“Something for my list” was all that appeared on it. He smiled. Leliana fought a scowl.  
“Would you like to send a message back before I retire?” she asked.  
“Yes,” he said, trying not to laugh as her face brightened. “Tell Iron Bull: Successful Castling.”  
She squinted. “Successful Castling.”  
“Yes.”  
“To Iron Bull.”  
“Just so.”  
“Nothing for the Inquisitor.”  
“Perhaps tomorrow. It is late. I doubt she is awaiting word. Her message was quite clear.” He opened his door. “Goodnight, spymaster,” he said. He stepped in and shut the door while she stood there puzzling.

The lamp was soon lit with veilfire and he sat on the narrow bed before unrolling the scroll again. The veilfire glittered over the page, twinkling and catching as if the words themselves were aflame. “Sweetness” it said, and a sharp taste of honey lingered on his tongue as it darkened into a view from the rookery. A sudden disorientation swept him as he saw his own form below, hovering near Helisma’s small desk. “What is he doing?” whispered the Inquisitor.

“Trying to help her remember. If she chooses,” Cole’s voice floated up from her side. “She loved beasts once, when the love could still spill out. Solas saw her, one day, watching Sera. It was the jar of bees. The way they buzz and dance. He saw a flicker of something. A spark. An ember deeply buried underneath a mountain of cold ash.”  
The gold diamonds of a honeycomb shone in Solas’s hands as he placed a small wooden bowl on the Tranquil’s desk.  
“Will it help?” whispered Lavellan. “Or will it cause her grief?”  
“It will help _him_ ,” said Cole, but shook his head. “He blows too gently on the spark, for fear of snuffing it out. He brings her honey, but he forgets the sting makes it sweeter still. She will not return. Not yet.” Cole squeezed the Inquisitor’s shoulder and Solas felt a surge of warmth. He wasn’t certain if it came from the memory or from himself. It was becoming harder to tell. “He would not have tried before,” said Cole. “He was without hope. You are the honeycomb that was left upon his doorstep. _You_ are the sweetness. And the sting. Don’t forget, in the end.”

The images slid away and he found himself again on the narrow bed, apart from her. He slid easily into sleep, seeking her over the long miles between them. But she was nowhere to be found. The vibrant thrum of her, that unmistakable call that had drawn him without fail for months, was absent. The Fade was empty. For a time, he told himself that she hadn’t found her rest yet. Sleep was scant and hard in the field. Though the long journey had made him seek out his bed, it was not truly so late. Dorian had kept him from checking on his own people the past several nights, Solas had his own work to tend to. And the problem of reaching the Hero of Ferelden to ponder.

But when dawn approached and the Inquisitor had yet to be found, he began to worry. He had no agents near her location and Cole was still days away. The message she’d sent by raven had been comforting, but it would not be the first time she had hidden distress from him. The others might still be reached, for an hour or two. But he was loathe to intrude. And his options were severely limited anyway. Varric, he knew, would tell him the truth, but Varric did not dream. And Iron Bull might forgive his trespass in return for news of Dorian, but Iron Bull, likewise, did not enter the Fade. It left only Cassandra and Sera. Cassandra would assume he was a demon, Solas had no doubt. It could only end in battle or distrust. And Sera— if she believed it was him, she’d either kill him or break. But she _would_ tell him, if he asked. Not here. He forced himself awake and hurried to the rookery.  
Leliana was long asleep, one of her dozing agents the only life besides the sleepy flutter of the birds. Good. He wanted no witness, though he’d have accepted one, if he had to.  
A simple message, just a promise and a question. A trade: a recipe for Walking Nightmare grenades in return for telling him why the Inquisitor was not sleeping. He sent the bird before dawn and tried to pretend at normalcy.

The answer did not come for hours and he was mildly irritated to see it in Leliana’s hand when it came. She handed it to him without question however, her mouth tight and worried. He knew she’d read it and he knew the news was bad, even before the scroll fell open.

“Qunari drink from Bull. Cassandra and I made her take it. Thought she might go mad without it. Or give in to a demon. The lyrium was singing, just like in Kirkwall. We hear it, the rest of us, but only for a minute. She can’t get rid of it. Not even to sleep. The drink stops it. Stops the Fade for a night. Two nights now. I think she might go mad anyway. Send help Chuckles, tell me what to do. Sera says, ‘no charge, Droopy’.” Varric’s seal was stamped below.

He wanted to be angry with Iron Bull for giving her the potion. It was barbarous. A temporary sort of tranquility. He wanted to be furious with Cassandra and Varric for enforcing it as well. But the Inquisitor would not willingly block the Fade unless there were no other choice. They had done what they believed they must. He thrust the scroll back into Leliana’s hands. “Tell him to continue on as they have. Tell him I am on the way.” He rushed toward the door.  
“It’s a week’s ride—” protested Leliana.  
“Then find me a swift horse,” he snapped.


	64. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSIp2dGxeqY&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=44

He banged on Dorian’s door and a moment later something thudded against the other side. “It’s too bloody early,” groaned Dorian. Solas opened the door anyway and found the Tevinter sprawled face down on the bed.  
“I need your aid, quickly.”  
Dorian hurled another book at him but he wasn’t looking and his aim went wide. “Too early. Come back tomorrow.”  
“It’s an urgent matter,” said Solas carefully picking up the tomes.

Dorian raised his head and blinked blearily at him. “How urgent can it be? The Inquisitor’s not back, nothing happens when she’s gone.” Solas took in his ragged hair and crumpled clothing.  
“You went to the Herald’s Rest last night. You said you were going to bed—”  
“Yes, well, the Chargers had a welcome home party. And since you weren’t there, I partook of your portion of the welcome as well. Now kindly, go away. I have a headache.”  
Solas flicked his hand and stripped the covers from Dorian’s back. “I will not, and if you’ve a headache it’s your own doing. Time to rise, we have work and I have little time to waste arguing.”

Dorian grabbed another book and raised it overhead.  
“Not that one! It’s one of the very few worth reading.”  
He squinted at it. “Oh right. Sorry.” He placed the book back down and grabbed another. “Have Mareno then, since you’re so fond of him.”

Solas easily side-stepped the tumbling book. He picked up the pitcher of water on the washstand. “Up, Dorian.”  
“You don’t scare me. It’s only water. What’s gotten into you, anyway?”  
“The lyrium is affecting the Inquisitor’s mind. She hasn’t been able to sleep in days. Iron Bull has had to take drastic measures and block her connection to the Fade.”  
Dorian sat straight up. “What? He can do that? You don’t mean— she’s not _tranquil_ is she? He wouldn’t do that.”  
“No, he wouldn’t. But even if the tranquility is temporary, she can’t be left there to endure it.”

Dorian shuddered. He took the pitcher from Solas and stood up to pour it in the basin. “I don’t see how we’re going to help. It took us a week to get back—”  
“That’s why I need you. Morrigan’s got an eluvian in the courtyard.”  
He spluttered and Solas handed him a towel. “What? How do you know?”  
“Does it matter?”  
Dorian turned around, folding his arms across his chest. “We just spent the past several weeks looking for one and all of a sudden you know of one in Skyhold. Yes, Solas, it matters.”  
“To be fair, we were looking for Corypheus, not the eluvian.”  
“Give me the Mareno back.”  
“Certainly,” said Solas shuffling the books he had picked up, “Why?”  
“Because I don’t think I hit you hard enough with it, I want another go.”  
“I don’t have time for this—”  
“Fine, fine. But why did you wake me up? Why didn’t you corner Morrigan?”

Solas shifted uncomfortably. “Cole asked me not to,” he said at last. “She can’t know I’ve gone through. If we force it open and you close it behind me, she need never find out.”  
“Wait— but what happens on the other end? Won’t you be stuck in the— wherever it is they take you? You’d have to open another eluvian.”  
“If you will aid me in opening this side, I will have enough power to manage the other.”

Dorian smoothed his mustache. “Even if I believed that, which— you are taking too many variables for granted— but even if I did, what are you going to do once you get there?”  
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “My only thought was to remove her.”  
“Did Varric tell you how his brother fared after being exposed?”  
“Bartrand’s exposure was much longer—”  
“To a single piece an eighth the size of the crystals we saw outside Sahrnia. And he was no mage.”

Solas sank down onto Dorian’s bedside chair. “I should not have left her.”  
“Then there would be two of you going mad instead of one. That isn’t why I asked. I thought there might be a method to eliminate the effects of the lyrium and it would be better to go prepared.”  
“I know of none. Or— no method that would lessen the effects of this type of exposure. Surely there were others who recovered— the people of Sahrnia seemed sane enough and they had been near it for weeks, had they not?”  
Dorian fidgeted. Solas knew what he would say. There had been no mage among them, either. “Have you got those shards still?” he asked instead.  
“Yes, they are in the Undercroft.”  
“I’ll work on them while you are gone. Hopefully, I’ll find a solution if one is necessary. And if not— it will keep me out of trouble. And the Herald’s Rest.”  
“I apologize,” said Solas, “it is not my business what you do in your spare—”  
Dorian waved a hand to dismiss it. “I know Iron Bull asked you to look after me, as a favor.”  
“I didn’t do it as a favor. It distresses me to see you unwell. You could have told me about the dreams. Months ago.”  
He shrugged. “It seemed unimportant in the face of everything. What’s a few nights of bad sleep when you wake up every morning to the end of the world?”  
“You are important, Dorian. To more people than you know. What troubles you, troubles us all.”  
“Maybe I _did_ hit you too hard. Come on, I’m not good at sentimental scenes. Besides, you have an inquisition to save.”

The courtyard was still empty this early in the morning and it was easy to slip into the small room with the closed eluvian. “Have you got everything? I have a feeling this is going to be a one way trip,” said Dorian. He twisted the end of his mustache nervously.  
“I’m ready,” said Solas. He clasped Dorian’s hand. “My reluctance to interfere— it isn’t because I don’t care.”  
“I know,” said Dorian.  
“You have one of the most brilliant minds I have encountered in many, many years. It can be a burden as well as an asset. Don’t— don’t feel you need to drown it, Dorian. There are other ways. If you need aid— or a friend, I’ll be back shortly.”

Dorian gave him a crooked smile. “I’ll behave myself. I promise.” He reached into a pocket and pulled something from it. “Would you give this to Iron Bull? I won’t be able to rest easy until I see he’s all right.”  
Solas held out his hand and Dorian dropped a crystal into it. The same one he’d made for the Inquisitor to speak with her clan. “Of course,” he said.  
Dorian nodded and stepped back, raising his hands to begin casting. “Come back sane, Solas. Even if she can’t. We’ll need you. _She’ll_ need you, either way.” The eluvian rippled under his spell. Solas stepped through even as his throat closed with dread.

Emprise du Lion’s eluvian was long forgotten, buried under rubble and ice. It was a lucky stroke that the waterfall had frozen so suddenly. He doubted it would be accessible otherwise. The wall of massive icicles shattered easily with a spell and he emerged in sight of Sahrnia. The ground near the town was still scarlet with red lyrium dust, but the air was blessedly silent. Inquisition tents had sprouted in the wreckage of the village and the heavy scent of food cooking reached him. The lot of the villagers, at least, had improved since he had left. He crossed the hardened river and sought out an Inquisition agent.

He had passed the Tower camp by midmorning and was almost in sight of the Keep when Varric’s voice broke the brittle cold.  
“Do you realize who you sound like? Brother or not, I like you much better than Bartrand. I can’t watch _you_ go through this too. Hawke would have list—”  
“I’m _not_ Hawke, no matter how much you may all wish it were so.” The Inquisitor’s voice rang with hurt.  
“We don’t wish that, Boss. We just want you safe. No one expected to find a flaming castle made of the stuff, but there it is. We can’t smash all of it. Not in time. It’ll take a crew weeks to do it. You throw a bolt of lightning in there, you might fry us all along with the templars.”  
“I can control it—”  
“You can’t. You opened a rift yesterday, Inquisitor. It can’t happen again.” Cassandra turned in time to see Solas rising over the low hill nearby. “Thank the Maker,” she sighed. “Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

Sera squinted at him. “How’d you get here so fast? Just sent the raven yesterday.”  
“Never mind how, I’m just glad he’s here,” snapped Cassandra.

The Inquisitor turned around to see who they were speaking to. Solas held out Dorian's crystal to Iron Bull but stopped in shock as he caught sight of her face. She was ragged and blazing with power. As if someone had hollowed her out and used her as a vessel for pure, ravaging flame. As if she were burning her flesh to fuel her magic. Deep circles made driftwood carvings of her eye sockets. Her hands were hard angles and crooks, they had lost the gentle flow he had come to know. She seemed withered, shrunken, though he could not honestly say how. But there was the sweet smile she saved for him, the aching happiness that seemed to wash over him each time she greeted him. She was still there, but hurting.

Iron Bull pushed her gently toward him and took the crystal. “Go home Boss.”  
“The Keep—”  
“I will relieve you of duty if I must,” warned Cassandra. “Let us take the Keep.”  
“But if you should fall— I cannot do this without you—”  
“We’re not going to fall, Buckles. Besides, think you might be more dangerous than the baddies. Don’t fancy dying to your glowey bit. Or any of your bits. That’s Droopy’s fate.” Sera snickered and smoothed the Inquisitor’s hair. The Inquisitor gave her a tired grin.

She hesitated looking back at the Keep. It bled a long ruby shadow over the snow. “We’ll smash it all,” said Varric. “Every last piece. It won’t sing anymore.”  
“I’m sorry Varric. I didn’t mean to yell—”  
He pulled her into a tight hug. “There’s only one Hawke, Inquisitor. And for that, we should all thank our lucky stars. But if the world were filled with others like you— it’d never be enough. Go home. Let us finish this. Rest.”  
She turned back toward Solas and he held out a hand to her. Her palm was chilled on his and he pulled her away, suppressing a shudder of fear. They were quiet most of the way back to Tower camp.

“Say something,” she pleaded, “I cannot stand the voices calling me.”  
“You are hearing voices?”  
“Voices, songs, it does not end.” She clapped her hands to her ears. He pried them gently away.  
“We’re nowhere near the lyrium, Vhenan. I can hear nothing.”  
“It’s permanent then. Inscribed in my skull. I’ll go mad—”  
“No. We’ll drown it out. Wipe it away. Varric said it’s been three days since you started taking Iron Bull’s potion to stop the dreams. And you had not slept easily for days before. You need the Fade—”  
She shook her head frantically. “I cannot keep it out there. It seeps— into everything. Red and shining and eternal. Always singing.”  
“I will be with you. I wish that I had been with you sooner.”  
“Do you know a way to keep it out?”  
“No. It is as unnerving for me as you. I had thought dwarves the only people immune, but Varric’s brother has shown me otherwise. Destroying it seems to be the only method. And distance.”  
She rubbed her temples. “Then I am glad you stayed away. There is no purpose in extra suffering.”

Soldiers stared as they entered the camp. He tried to ignore it, but he knew how worn the Inquisitor looked beside him. They wound through the tents to avoid the crowded training area and mess. She followed him to the stables. It worried him more than her appearance or even her words. She rallied only a little as he called for her horse.  
“I cannot leave them. Not knowing they are going into battle,” she protested.  
“You cannot help them. They are strong and experienced, each of them. And they are together. They will not fall, but if it were to happen— what would you do? Throw away your life or your sanity in a useless attempt at vengeance? The Inquisition has a bigger purpose than defeating the templars in Suledin Keep. _You_ have a bigger purpose. How do you intend to battle Corypheus if you have succumbed to madness?”  
“But they are my _friends._ ”  
“As they are mine. And if we are to honor their efforts, then you must return to health. And that means leaving this place.”

She glanced back toward the Keep, though it was too distant to be seen. Then she let him help her up. She looked around expectantly for his horse.  
“How did you get here? I’ve fallen asleep at last, haven’t I? Or is it a trick of the lyrium? A hallucination? Did I slip through a rift?”  
“You are not hallucinating. But you will start if you do not sleep soon.” He pulled himself up behind her. “Alas, I cannot return the way I arrived or we would be home by evening. But the lyrium, at least, will be long behind us.”  
She pressed her heel to the horse’s flank and it started off, picking its way down through the stony iced paths. Her breath made sparkling silver plumes against the air. Everywhere the red detritus of the crushed lyrium caught his eye, disturbed the quiet dark of the pines and the rocky cliffs.

“Talk to me,” she pleaded at last.  
“The method you used to keep you from the Fade—”  
“What choice did I have?” she cried. He tightened his arm around her waist slightly.  
“You did not. I was not going to criticize. I only wished to know if it had lingering effects. Is your magic affected? Your emotions?”  
“I’m not certain,” she said after a moment. “It may, but the lyrium is so powerful— I cannot tell what is my own self control and what is Iron Bull’s method.” That was not reassuring. “The constant singing aside— it was as if I were just discovering my magic again. I couldn’t control it. It just— happened. Do you remember that feeling?”  
“I’m sorry, my love, there was never such a moment for me. Without the Veil, all people had magic, from the moment of their birth. It was not something to control or to hide. It was just another— sense. Another form of thought.”  
“It isn’t that way for us,” she sighed. “We were trading with a farm when it happened. If it had not been there, it might have been celebrated. We might have had a feast, as I heard they’d had for the Keeper many years before my birth. But the humans saw it.”  
“What happened?”  
“Nothing terrible. Not like stories I’ve heard since. I didn’t light anything on fire or hurt anything.”  
He curled a hand around hers on the reins. “I did not mean what _you_ did. I meant what happened to you?”

“I was climbing an apple tree. It was late summer and the apples were just ripening. They smelled so sweet. We didn’t get apples often.” She shifted a little twisting her face to glance at him with a tired smile. “Berries, certainly, but apple trees are permanent. Owned things. Wild trees were rare on our route and we never seemed to pass when the fruit was ripe. But the farmer was generous. He said the children could have all they wanted. But we’d been there a few weeks, negotiating a cattle trade. So most of the apples were eaten. There were a few at the very top, but none of the others were brave enough to climb up to reach them. The farmer’s children were with us. We all agreed that one of us would climb up and throw down the remaining fruit to the others. It fell to me, in the end—”  
“I am unsurprised,” he laughed.

“Everything went easily. I climbed to the top and dropped the apples down. I remember laughing at the kids scrambling to snatch them up. But when it was time to come down, most of the others had already run off to play. One of the farmer’s boys remained. I think he might have liked me, a little. He stayed to see me safely down. But one of the branches broke under my feet and fell away. I clung there for a moment by the arms, too scared to cry out for help. The boy didn’t know what to do either. My arms began to tire and I knew I was going to fall. So I shut my eyes tightly and felt this— tingle. As if I’d fallen into an icy lake. I heard a creaking and opened my eyes. The branches beneath me were growing and flowering, passing under my feet as if to save me. But I hadn’t consciously done it. I was— elated and dropped down to watch the blossoms float away and tiny green apples swell on the branch. Then I looked down at the boy. And his face— I’ll never forget his face before he ran off, shouting. It was— it was as if I’d soiled myself in front of him. Or stabbed some harmless creature. Fear and disgust and— and hate. I felt like everything I was, everything I tried to be, that my clan encouraged me to be was ruined in that one moment. Because I’d saved myself. There was a big argument after that. The boy came back with all the human adults and my father and Deshanna.

"My father helped me get down while the humans yelled. I think they completely forgot that a little girl had been hanging several feet from the ground. It didn’t matter that a fall would surely have injured me. Perhaps crippled me. Or worse. It didn’t matter that I was small. Too small even to do anything more important than gather reeds for our beds. That was my task then. And it didn’t matter that I’d harmed no one or that the tree now had a new fruiting branch. All that mattered was that they had a mage in their midst. An unproven, uninstructed mage. That I was this menace that my clan had brought among them. We left the next morning. The trades were undone and the winter supplies were scarcer for it. The other children blamed me for robbing them of more apples and the adults were silent, probably resenting that their hard negotiations had been for nothing. We never returned to that farm. Not the next year or any after. My parents and Deshanna were the only ones with a kind word for me for many weeks. To place those I cared about in danger, to be so loathed for something I could not control, something I didn’t know how to hide— this week and the magic, felt like that again.”

“I am sorry that this world is so broken. It should never have felt that way for anyone. You are not loathed, Vhenan, not now. Your people love you. Cassandra and the others did not push you out because they feared you, they wanted to send you home because you are hurting. Varric didn’t want to see you forced into taking that potion— Iron Bull either, I’d imagine. He sent me a raven to ask for help. They don’t like seeing you dull and dwindling and reluctant to use your skills because you fear they are beyond your control. Do not doubt them. They _love_ you.”  
She rubbed her head. “I know you are probably right. The noise and the exhaustion— it is hard to think clearly just now.”

They were passing through Sahrnia. The long, worried looks of the inquisition agents as the horse trotted by made him uneasy. “We will be back in the mountains soon. The lyrium will be long behind us. I know a place to rest.”  
“I don’t have any food for the spiders, emma lath.”  
He smiled. “No spiders. Just a hunting lodge. The owners will be glad for guests so deep in the winter. And there will be a warm fire that crackles and chickens squawking in the barn and the thud of a full tankard onto the wooden tables. And then a soft bed and the rustle of deep furs and dreams.” He slid closer, taking the reins from her as she relaxed back into him. “Where shall I take you, Vhenan? What sound would you like best to hear? The ancient choirs of the Imperium echoing against the stone of their temples? The call of a thousand horns in Andruil’s great hunts?” He kissed the edge of her ear. But she shook her head. “The sea then?” he tried, “The ceaseless rush of wind and water and the creak of old fishing docks? Or the rippling whisper of the long grasses of the plains and the call of the Halla keeper as the aravels rattle over the uneven dirt? Do you wish to go home?”  
“Yes,” she sighed resting her head against his shoulder. “I want to go home. I want to hear the frogs calling one another in the pond where we planted the dawn lotus. And the crickets that creep through the reeds. And Vivienne’s voice floating gently from the mage tower and Cole’s from the garden. And you, with the soft scrape of your painting knife over the wall and your laugh— that is a dear sound. I know it is simple. Maybe dull after all of your adventures. But that is what I would hear instead of this void-spawned music.”  
“There is nothing dull about home. We will be there soon, Vhenan.” He willed her to rest, to slip into sleep as they rode, but she was stiff with worry until they reached the lodge.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said even as she sank onto the side of the bed. “Not without the potion.”  
He knelt beside her, tugging off her boots. “Hmm. A difficult task, to be sure. How did you manage it all the thousands of nights before this week?” He smiled gently and she laughed. But she became solemn quickly.  
“What if I do something in my sleep? What if I hurt you? Or burn the lodge down? Or—”  
“You will not. I will be with you. If you are distressed, I will wake you. Just as I promised to do after Redcliffe.”

She seemed to yield a little at that and he started on her robes. “You said you could not push it away though, not this time,” she said, shrugging the fabric off. His fingers flew over the lacing of the leather panels beneath.  
“I said I knew of no way to keep the effects of the actual crystals out. We are nowhere near them now, my love. It is just a bad memory.” He stopped to kiss her temple. “Those I can help with.” _I hope_. She slid reluctantly beneath the furs and he stood to undress. She watched him, the firelight settling over her tired face.  
“Thank you for coming to rescue me. Even if it was from myself,” she said suddenly.  
He shook his head with a smile. “You’ve never needed rescuing. Well— maybe the horse. But you’d never have been under it or exposed to red lyrium without me. I just craved you.”  
“Such sweet lies,” she laughed. He slipped in beside her.  
“Where is the lie? You faced an army of altered templars and acres of lyrium while I retreated. You did not need rescue. Or is it that I missed you?” He pressed a long kiss into her lips. “There is not a truer word in the world than that.”

She covered a laughing yawn with one hand. “Well, however you came to be beside me, I am grateful for it,” she said sleepily. He stroked her hair and watched her slide slowly away, the claw of her hand softening, her shoulders uncurling, the angles of her face smoothing out. Like a starved plant suddenly watered. He followed her and heard the haunting echo of the red lyrium that repeated and repeated in her mind.  
The Fade was a bleeding, glittering slash, a wound that never healed. He shoved it away. It did not go easily. She was fighting him, though she did not realize it. “Let go,” he said as he reached her, “Or I will be forced to resort to other methods.”  
“I’m trying,” she insisted and then gave him a sharp look. “What other methods?”  
He let a wicked smile pass over him. “I know some particularly awful Orlesian poetry I could whisper to you—”  
She laughed and the press of the lyrium echo lightened. “I don’t think that’s really a threat. I like your whispers, whatever the message.”  
He leaned in. “Then stay, just for a little,” he pressed his lips to her ear, “I will find better things to whisper. You need this, you need the Fade.”  
They were standing on the bank of the river beside Skyhold. There was no fortress, but the frogs chirped loudly into the warm night. He turned her gently toward his tower. It was not an elaborate place, more function than form, but still she gasped in wonder at it.  
“Where are we?” she asked.  
“Home,” he said, leading her to the door.


	65. The Dreamer Must Wake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZDDxbuKUXI

He watched as her fingers trailed over the trunk of the great carved tree. The massive pillar held up the tower and housed the staircase that spiraled down into the veilfire room. She knelt on the floor, peering through the great crystals that closed the spaces between the vast branches. “So that is how you knew of it,” she said watching the elves below carve more leaves into the stone walls beneath them. She looked up at him. “They were _yours_. Your people. All those names.”  
He smiled, but only felt old sorrow flowing through him, wearing deeper grooves into his heart. “I was _theirs_. No one ever belonged to me.”  
“That isn’t what I meant,” she said quickly.  
“I know,” he answered, helping her up. He led her up the steps.

She looked around in awe as they reached the next unfolding of branches. It had been so familiar to him, the dozens of small apartments scattered along the crooks, nestled in the forks and hanging like pendants from the arms of the tree. He was seeing it through her, now, this thing he had helped to make, this home he had grown over centuries. One freed slave at a time. One dwelling built after another. Some with magic, some with his own hands. They twinkled in the sunlight that streamed through the leaves and caught on the fine wrought metals and smooth crystal. He had never considered it ostentatious— it was vastly understated compared to the cities, but he could see the effect it had on her was weighty and a little frightening. She was beginning to believe him. To accept that he was what he claimed. He was unsure whether that was comforting or achingly sad. The memories of his people wove to and fro, laughed with one another, worked and bartered and planned around them. She watched them, touching her own face. She was seeing them bare, clean of the blood-writing. Now was not the time. He tried to hurry her toward his own chamber above. It was quiet and small. She would be at ease there, he was certain. But she pulled back, lingered, drew near one of the houses. She looked over her shoulder at him.

  
“So many. Where are they?”  
He shook his head. “I am uncertain. I hope they lived in some kind of freedom and comfort before Tevinter took them.”  
Her brow wrinkled in confusion.  
“I had to send them away, Vhenan. To keep them safe. They were in danger from their former masters.”  
“Masters?” she asked.  
He touched the mark on his forehead. He forgot that it was not present in the Fade. “They were all former slaves. They came here to be free. The chamber below, the one I brought you to, it was where they threw off their shackles. They stayed with me while it was safe to do so.”  
“Who did you free them from? Who did they belong to?”  
He sighed. “The Evanuris. Those you have grown to believe were gods. In truth, they were like us. But they had great power, and sought still more.”  
“Like us— you mean they were elves?”  
He nodded.  
“But— elves enslaving other elves? How can that be?” She raked a hand through her hair in distress.  
“Is it any different from Tevinter enslaving elves? Or Orlais?” he asked gently. “Slavery is still slavery. The blood of the owner makes no difference.” It struck him then, what Cole had meant. _They are all your people, Solas. You start the same. You end the same._ He offered a silent thought of deep gratitude and hoped the spirit could feel it, no matter the distance between them.

“It _is_ different. We do not worship Tevinter. Or the Orlesians. We do not dedicate ourselves in their names—”  
“Alas, I could not free them all. For every one that came to me for protection and aid, there were a hundred others who didn’t or couldn’t. If I had done more, if I hadn’t waited to be pushed, perhaps the truth would have traveled to you instead of the myths that take the place of real history.”  
She drew closer to him. “The people that free Tevinter slaves, the ones I heard about— they claim to do so in the name of Fen’harel. Are they your people?”  
“I do not know. I had not heard of it until you told me that morning in the Mire. That would be— it would honor me if it were so.”

“What _happened_?” she asked. “Why was this place lost?”  
“I could not hold it. I knew our masters were coming, they sought something we did not have. But they had discovered us and their armies would be all too happy to retake them. So I asked them to go, to protect them. I took the memory of this place from them. Something similar to Cole’s method. I never wanted them to return. I couldn’t be sure their masters would not leave some trap to harm them. It was not safe. And then—” he walked out to the end of a long limb and pointed down to the large courtyard below, ringed by the enormous roots of his tower. “I waited, there, to stop any from following them.”  
She crouched on the branch beside him, staring down at the spot. “Alone?” she asked, and he could feel the anguish pulsing from her. “You fought them all alone?”  
“I was stronger then. I was not so broken. But I could not fight them, my love. I had a different plan. Their own greed defeated them, not I.”  
“You trapped them,” she said. “Brought this place down, as in your story.”  
“Yes, I trapped them. But not here. Time ruined this place and— and it could not stand once the Veil cut it off from the Fade. I did not pull it down. Not purposely.”

She stood up, looked around again at the dwellings around them. Solas heard an echo of the lyrium’s song. She was slipping away from him, away from the calm. “Why didn’t you follow your people when you were finished? Why did you leave us?”

Regret clawed at him and her distress was clear as the tainted music swelled around them. “I spent _everything_ to free us from the Evanuris. It _hurt_ to do it. I could not bring myself to take their place. But if I had stayed, that is what would have happened. It was already happening. I fought against it every day. For them to be truly free, I had to be absent. I thought they would assume my death. It was my assumption, too. I did not mean to wake. Ever. These were strong, capable people. They did not need gods. They did not need keepers. You do not need us.”  
She shook her head sadly. “ _Look_ at us, Solas. We needed _help_.”  
“I had nothing left to give!”

She passed a hand over his cheek. “I have relied upon you almost from the time I met you. What is it that you think you have provided, emma lath? Your spells? The remnants of this power you are chasing?” She glanced around with a soft smile. “The way you bend the Fade?” The lyrium’s melody almost drowned her out and he waved a frustrated hand. The tower dissolved and they were in the desert, the rumble of an approaching storm and the wind the only sounds. It would take her mind time to replace it with the music. He had bought her that much at least. “Thank you,” she said, “but that is not why I need you.”  
“I have never understood why you think you need me. Only why I need you,” he answered.

She twisted his fingers between her own. “It is not for the power underneath your skin, but what is in your mind. And the compassion in your heart. You give me strength to keep doing what is right. What is kind. There is no depleting _that_ well of power. I have needed— _we_ have needed a friend. A colleague. Not a god or a teacher or a parent. You have been a friend, before all else.”  
He started to shake his head, to turn from her in denial, but she chased him, brought him back to stillness. “You do not need it, Solas. We must prevent someone like Corypheus from holding it, but you do not need the orb. You don’t have to take it back, if you don’t wish to. You don’t have to be a god.”  
“You think I would use it unwisely?” he asked.  
“No. No, that is not what I fear.”  
“You think it would change me then? Turn me into the monster of legend that you fear?”  
She tried to laugh but it sounded half-sobbed. “If a thousand years of watching us fail and your story muddled and twisted did not change you, what would your own strength do? Not that. I only fear your loneliness and the weight of all the world upon you. _Stay_. Be free. Let us stumble and learn and become something better. Be with us. Be with _me_. Forget the orb, as you did before, but stay among us.”  
“You would die.”  
“I _will_ die. Most of us do.” The echo of the lyrium returned again, softer now. He did not wait but pulled the Fade again and they were in the Deep Roads, the thrum of dwarf song and the ring of armor as they marched around them.  
“You would not be alone,” he said, watching her. “The dam will break and all would be swept away.”  
“Then let me aid you. _Tell_ me. I do not have your power, but I am not useless.”  
“That is not what I think of you. And you _are_ aiding me. Aiding us all.”  
“That is not an answer,” she said and drew back from him.

“If Alexius’s spell worked, if you could go back and prevent it all, the Conclave, Corypheus, the anchor, every death and hardship would you do it?”  
“Of course,” she said, confused at the sudden turn.  
“And if it meant we would never meet? That you would never know Varric or Cassandra or Sera or Vivienne? If it meant I never woke?”  
Her expression was blank and calm. It did not alter. Not even in the Fade. But he knew she had felt it like a blow because the dwarves around them flickered, wavered. The spirits were changing, pulling into something else. Something wrong.  
“Forgive me,” he said and pushed her carefully from the dream.

She was already sitting up when he woke. “I’m sorry,” he said to her back. “We were in danger.”  
She nodded, but didn’t turn to him. He let his fingers glide over the bare plane of her back and waited. “I feel like your questions are tests that I’m always failing,” she said at last. “That I push you farther and farther from me every time I answer.”  
He sat up and pulled her hand into his. “They are not tests. And it is not you that is pushing us apart.”  
She met his gaze at last. “This is the price then?” her voice dragged and cracked. “The world in exchange for you?”  
“Part of the price,” he admitted.  
Her vallaslin crumpled. “Part?” she whispered. He traced the bones of her hand with his thumb instead of answering. She wiped her face and gave him a shaky smile. “We’ll just— we’ll find each other again. My clan’s camps don’t change often, I’ll be able to—” she stopped as he shook his head.  
“It will be more than a few years. More than a few centuries. More than the Conclave. It is bigger than Corypheus.” He buried a hand in her hair. “I don’t know if you will ever be born, Vhenan. And I will not survive what I must do.”  
She twisted to face him. “But— if it has not destroyed us in centuries, why is it so urgent now?”  
“Some poisons are fast and some are slow, but the result is the same.” He stroked the green veins of the mark over her wrist. “We are coming to the end now, running out of time. For the world. For— for us. I believe I might undo it. My people might be salvaged. But I cannot find a way for us. I cannot find a way to save you.”  
“Then let me find it,” she said, creeping close enough to slide her arms around him.  
“It doesn’t exist,” he sobbed into her shoulder.  
“There is always another way.”

“Come with me,” he pleaded.  
“What will happen here? What happens in this world?” She pulled his face up to meet hers, stared at him, iron and sorrow all at once.  
“They’re already _dead_. No matter what I do, they are running out of time. I cannot fight this. You cannot fight it. Let me save you, at least. Even if it’s only for a short while.”  
“I cannot abandon my friends, my clan— I belong in this world. You belong in it too. I should have stayed in Redcliffe. I should have died beside you—”  
“Then the price would have been the same. Worse. I would have lost you and gained nothing. If I stay, I will still lose you. And the world.”  
“Send another,” she begged, “let another take your place. Stay and help me. We will stand together. We’ll find a way.”  
“Then I would condemn another to death in my place—”  
“You said we were all condemned already,” she cried. “Send another. Haven’t I earned that? I know it is selfish. Let me ask this. Let me keep _you_. Haven’t you asked the same?”  
“Every day.” He choked on the words and fell silent again.  
“Today is not the last day. This is not the last breath.” She pressed a warm hand around the back of his skull, solid and gentle. “We have time. I have hope. Enough for us both. Trust in me, emma lath.”

He hesitated. “It was never you that I doubted. But what you ask is im—”  
“Don’t,” she warned, placing her hand over his mouth.  
He bit off the word. “What would you have of me then? Do you wish me to lie to you?”

She rubbed her forehead. She was still exhausted. And probably still hearing the lyrium. He’d failed. “I _wish_ to stop arguing. You have some hope still. You’d never have told me these things if you didn’t. You would have continued to push me away. Some part of you _knows_ that all is not lost.”  
“That does not mean it is a _rational_ hope,” he said with a sad smile. “It is impractical. Foolish. Fantasy.”  
She leaned in to brush her nose past his. “When have I ever let reality get in the way? You thought no one could walk flesh and bone through the Fade and emerge again. And yet, I did. Twice. You told me no one could skip through time, and Dorian and I did. You expected me to die in Haven. That I could not accept the truth. About you, about the gods, about the orb. And I am still here beside you. What is one more impossible feat? I will find a way to release you from— whatever this is.”  
He shook his head. “It isn’t your duty to rescue me from my own folly. It is an unfair thing to ask.”  
“Solas, I want to help you. Not because I feel obligated, but because I love you.” She stared at him. “Love isn’t fair, no one should know that better than you and I.”

He brushed his lips over hers, as light and aching as their first kiss. “Oh, my love, this is a good dream. But the Dreamer must always wake, in the end,” he said.  
“Not yet. Dawn is not upon us. Help me hold the sun back. Don’t wake.”  
“Not yet,” he agreed. But a vision of a scarlet morning filled with tainted song and a crown of bloody crystals erupting from her soft hair, filling her eyes with dark ruby madness, that was not so easily brushed aside.


	66. Ptarmigan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFzwNsLr5Mg

It was not Solas that finally banished the lyrium echo, but Cassandra. When the Fade had failed to push it away, he’d tried touch, needing it as much as she. Clasped her torn hand in his and held back the mark as they finished, pouring power into the barrier against it until he shook, depleted by fighting the power that ought to have been his. And still, they teetered at the edge of consciousness.

She fought to sink into sleep, and he to stay awake until she did. She rose a little after dawn, though he tried to persuade her not to. The morning was bright and brisk. Fresh snow had blanketed the feet of the mountains and it crunched as they trudged through it. A raven was perched on the stable door. It fluffed its feathers and bit at her fingers as she reached for the scroll on its leg. Solas considered blasting it for a moment, but brushed off his terrible mood as best he could.

The tired smile of relief that spread over the Inquisitor was enough to banish it. “It’s from Cassandra. Suledin Keep is ours, all men safe. She is bringing you something. Letters between Corypheus and the man ruling the Keep. She says he was possessed. Called himself Imshael—”  
“Imshael?” he said sharply holding his hand out for the scroll. “That is a name I have not heard in many centuries.”  
She handed the scroll to him. “Was he a friend?” she asked.  
“No. No, I didn’t know him. He was banished long before I was born. But he is dangerous…” he trailed off, scanning Cassandra’s cramped writing.  
“They killed him after he tried to seduce them to turn on each other.”  
“I doubt they killed him, my love, but they banished him for a time. And we will meet Corypheus before Imshael has time to return and aid him. I am glad they escaped unscathed.”

She pulled a slip of paper from her pack and pressed it against the stable door scribbling a response with a crumbling stick of charcoal. He watched her fingers still and fumble as she tried to break through the fog in her mind and find the words she wanted. She was still sunken. Still diminished.

This conflict, this chase after Corypheus must end soon if she was to survive it. If any of them were. He hoped Morrigan was prepared to lead them to him. The raven took off, heading back the way it had come. “Are you ready?” she asked him and he shook himself back to the present.  
“We could stay. Rest another day, now that we are certain they are safe,” he offered.  
He watched her hesitate, look back at the warm lodge with its bright windows and slow curl of fragrant smoke from the chimney. It was more than he’d ever been able to get from her before. But he was unsurprised when she shook her head.  
“I want to go home,” she said.

The path into the mountains was too narrow and rocky for the horse to carry them over it. They walked beside it instead. The brittle chill and the sharp stones cut through the remaining numbness in them both. He wondered if she were still hearing the lyrium repeating and repeating in her head.  
“The Avvar say the heart of Korth was buried in these mountains,” he said to break the silence, to stop the echo in her mind. “That he took it from his chest and hid it, even from himself. So that no weakness in it could betray him.”

“A man cannot live without his heart,” said the Inquisitor.  
He smiled. “How well I know,” he said, tracing her cheek. “And Korth soon discovered it. They say the winter hurricanes blew through the hole where it had been and froze him. Numbed him to all around him. He relied purely on logic and strength and it made him cruel. The people cried out for mercy and their Lady of the Skies heard and answered. She sent her champions to scour the Frostbacks for his heart. But the mountains defeated them. And the people despaired. And then the ptarmigan spoke up. It is a small bird, its wings cannot match the fierce gales that blew through the Frostbacks. She asked the Lady of the Skies if she could try. She asked to search the Frostbacks. But the Lady refused. ‘Stay,’ she told her. ‘You are precious to me. Stay here, by my side. Be safe. Gather the others and retire to the calm warmth of my realm.’ The ptarmigan tried for a while. She watched the people suffer as Korth grew worse and the world began to crumble at the edges. And one day, the ptarmigan slipped away. She came to the foot of these mountains. At first, she tried as others had, to fly above the fierce winds and thick mists. But her wings grew tired and at last she fell. But she did not give up. She crept along the ground, tucking her beak to her chest and squinting one eye against the snow, always listening for the deep thump of Korth’s heart.”

He pulled her into his side, wrapping an arm around her. He bent his head to whisper into her ear, his free hand moving in a slow spell. “It was faint at first, just a soft tremor, a flutter against her frostbitten feet. As she crawled closer, it grew. A low rumble, like a far away storm. And then a deep drum that echoed in the dark.” He stopped speaking as the spell took over. She looked around them as the rhythmic boom swelled and ancient Avvar chants joined it. A memory made audible. One he had seen long ago. “She came to the valley between the mountains,” he shouted, “And there was the heart, buried in a golden box that shone like the sun. The heart was mighty and strong. It shook the very stone. The ptarmigan flew down to it and gripped the box in her tiny talons. But the heart was not immune to the cruelty that Korth had committed. It had grown immensely heavy. The ptarmigan lifted the box, but it slid from her grip and crashed into the mountainside.” His spell ended abruptly and he marveled at the wonder in her face.

Such a simple thing, to take her from herself. Why had it not occurred to him the night before? “The box cracked and Korth roared in pain as the heart tumbled from the broken wood and into the frigid snow. He stumbled down the Frostbacks, lumbering toward his heart as the ptarmigan tried again to lift it. Her talons and beak pierced the heart, and Korth roared, loud enough to wake his brother Hakkon.”  
“But she hurt him to save him,” said the Inquisitor.  
“To save the heart,” agreed Solas.  
“To save _him_. If she had let the heart lie in the snow, it would have frozen and shattered. And a man cannot live without his heart. She did not have a golden box or soft hands to carry it. She did what she must have done to save him. It was the lesser hurt, though, perhaps more painful.”

He thought for a moment. She waited, squeezed her warmth against his side. “Did Korth kill the ptarmigan?” she asked at last. “Was that the price to save him?”  
“ _No_ ,” he said, rousing himself from sad predictions. “No. Korth approached the valley and knelt down to better see the tiny bird. The heart leapt to be so near to its owner and slid back into his chest, thawing him. His brother, Hakkon, laughed for joy. He made the valley into a great forge and made a harness of steel to hold the heart in place. Korth took the ptarmigan with great honor back to his fortress. She sat on his shoulder for the entirety of his rule. Whenever Korth doubted, whenever he wondered his own heart, whether he were making the kindest, the best choice for his people, the ptarmigan sang to him. She sang him the song of his own heart, the one only she had ever heard. And then he would know what was right. What was good.”

She was silent for a long while. The sun was beginning to warm them and he began to feel drowsy again. “Did he always listen to her?” she asked, startling him.  
“Her song ruled him utterly,” said Solas.  
“Did it?” she asked. “Then he must have been a happy god, listening always to the wishes of his own heart.”  
He felt the sting in the observation. “Not the wishes, Vhenan. He would have been nearly as cruel as before if he had done that. He listened to what he knew was _right_. And that is not always simple. Or happy.”  
She smiled, but it was sad and lopsided. “I don’t think either of us need a lesson in that,” she said. He thought she was probably right. But it had done the trick. She seemed to have thrown off the shadow of the lyrium, seemed to regain some of her power and focus. Seemed to grow into herself again.

“Solas,” she asked, “The spell you used to make your people forget— have you used that spell upon me or our friends?”  
“No. That was the only time I have done so.”  
“Would you promise me never to use it on me?”  
He stroked her temple with his finger. “It might bring you comfort when I—”  
“It is not a comfort that I want,” her voice was firm, unwavering. Without grief to muddle it.  
“I will never use it on you, unless you ask me to.”  
“What did you take from them?”  
He shook his head, confused. “Just the path back to the tower.”  
“Not your name? Not their memories of you? Not the identities of their fellows?”  
“It was not _me_ that I meant to protect. And not the tower. It was them. I didn’t want them to wander back into a trap. And they were a family. I would not take them from each other.”  
“Did any refuse to have the memory taken from them?”  
He nodded. “A few.”  
“Did you force them?”  
“No. I wanted them to be free. And sometimes— that meant letting them stumble or make a choice I did not agree with.”  
“What happened to them, the ones that refused?”  
He shook his head. “I do not know what happened to any of them. The ones who forgot or the ones who remembered. I’ve thought to find them more than once, seek out their dreams and memories—”  
“But?”  
“But it is too late to change their fates now. So late. If I am very lucky, I will get another chance. And so will they.” He found her hand and folded her cold fingers into his own. “But I must be like Korth and leave my heart in another world to do it.”

She opened her lips to protest, but he shook his head and kissed her hand. “Pay me no mind. I am just overtired. Our time is not yet gone, and the ending is still unknown.”  
A flutter of dark against the mountainside caught his eye and he looked up.  
“Cole,” said the Inquisitor. “He came to meet us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short this time. wanted to keep mythal's temple as one chunk. coming up soon.


	67. Sea Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6_efthmkAQ&index=48&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“You are so warm,” said Cole reaching for the Inquisitor’s arm as she stumbled up the rocky ascent. “Like fire when you see me. The sun on fields of sweetening grass.”  
“I am always happy to see you, Cole,” she laughed. “Is that so strange?”  
“Yes,” said the boy. “Except for Varric and Solas, no one else greets me this way.”  
“I am sorry,” she said. “The others don’t know what they miss in your friendship.”  
“Do not be sad.” He stroked her cheek as if it were one of his mice. Solas turned away to hide a smile. “You are _enough_.”

Cole tilted his head as if listening. “More than enough. The thought is a smoothed sea stone tumbling and tumbling through him, all the sharp edges worn away. He takes it out to feel the shape of it more than he intends. A whole world for _you_. He begins to think he could do it, if—”  
Solas closed his eyes and shut off the thought, pulling it away from Cole’s gentle seeking.  
“Oh!” cried the boy, “Where did it go?”  
“I apologize, Cole,” he answered softly, “It is not a pain you can heal. And I would not torture you or the Inquisitor with it.”  
“You _promised_ ,” said the Inquisitor turning toward him.  
“I did. And I will not break it. It was no spell, and I would not make him forget. That would be torture for a spirit, forcing him to repeat and repeat what he cannot change. I only— put it away.”

She was troubled, but remained silent. Cole frowned.  
“Be at ease,” Solas told him. “I have only done what you try to.”  
“I wish to help.”  
“You _do_. You saved a clan of refugees who had no way back to their people.”  
Cole brightened. “Yes,” he said excitedly, clasping the Inquisitor’s hand. “Your family is busy! Loud and kind. Shy birds that flock together and then burst apart to spread the same song. It is growing, your family. All of the city and Hawen’s people, all Lavellan now. They miss you. Your Keeper worries that they should stand with you. She worries if she is right to stay in the city so far from you. I told her you have family at Skyhold. That you are singing the same song, still. That you are still Lavellan.”

It shouldn’t have mattered so much to Solas. What difference did it make? The task was almost done. She’d never have had to know if they would not accept her among them again. She’d be with _him_ at the end. The orb was almost in reach and then the power to turn it back. Yet his relief was intense, knowing she had this other home. These other people that still wanted her. That he hadn’t destroyed that bond, at least.  
“You’re tired,” Cole was saying.  
Lavellan shook her head.  
“Yes,” insisted Cole. “Even if you were not, Solas _is_.”

He shrugged and smiled as she turned to look at him again. He already knew Cole had won.  
“There is a fire. And a tent. Just a little farther.”  
“It’s not even midday—” the Inquisitor protested, even as Cole pulled her up the slope. Solas stumbled along in their wake, half leading the horse, half letting it drag him behind. He let Cole do the persuading, and it was not long until he was lying in the warm tent, the walls steeped in gold sunlight and the mountain wind billowing and snapping the fabric as if they were at sea. She was asleep before him, but only by a breath.

He woke in the dark, the bottom edges of the tent glowing scarlet by the light of the fire Cole had kept burning. She was staring at him.  
“Have you slept at all, Vhenan?” he asked.  
“I only woke a few moments ago.”  
“You should return to your rest. It has been many days since you’ve had an undisturbed sleep.”  
“Does Cole know everything?” she asked, ignoring him.  
He hesitated. “Yes,” he admitted at last.  
“Then— is he meant to fulfill your task should you fall? Or is there another that I have not met?”  
He drew back from her, sat up stiffly. His old habits and terrors clawed at him. “If you mean to strike me down— I must warn you, I am not easily quelled.”  
“Solas,” she cried reaching for his hand, “have you so little faith in me?”  
He shook his head. “I have so _much_ in your sense of doing what is right. If I were in your position, I might not be merciful either.”  
“It is not mercy to cut someone down for what they might yet do. If it were, the world would be a graveyard. That is not the purpose of my question.”

She might have promised never to cut him down, never to turn against him. He was not surprised that she did not. “Why do you ask then? What possible good can come of such a question?”  
“Only this,” she answered, sliding from the warmth of her bedroll and kneeling beside him. She held his gaze with her own, but made no more attempts to touch him. “If this thing that you mean to do— if it is so unavoidable and so dire, have you considered what would happen should you fall? Are you invulnerable as well as immortal?”  
He sighed and took her hand between his. “No. There is nothing in this world that is.”  
“We face a formidable foe. It will not be long, emma lath. I feel it in my bones. In the mark. There is not much time to make certain what we may leave undone is finished after we are gone.”  
It had not occurred to him. The mistake was glaring and huge. He thought, silently, of all that could happen in his absence. Of what had already happened. She pressed a hand to his cheek and caught his eye.  
“Or maybe,” she whispered, “This thing that you must do— maybe it can be set aside. For someone else to take up. For someone else to find a way that you cannot yet see. Maybe you have not entrusted this task to anyone else because some part of you knows that all is not lost. That there is another path we may find. No one has ever saved the world alone, Solas.”  
She drew away and left the tent to let Cole rest. Solas sat in deep thought until Cole roused him from it.

“You think it’s worse now. That you shouldn’t have told her.” The boy stretched out on the Inquisitor’s bedroll, stuffing his hat under his head.  
“I don’t think it, I _know_ it. I should have known it would only cause her more grief.”  
“You’re wrong.” Cole closed his eyes, his arms resting stiffly over his chest as if he had returned the corpse of the boy he inhabited. “She is determined now. She forgets to be frightened of what comes next. A deep wound suddenly lanced, all the bad out in the open air. It cannot worsen now. It can only heal. For you both.”  
“There are some wounds that cannot ever heal,” said Solas passing a hand over his eyes.  
“Maybe,” said Cole, “I cannot tell the future, but I do not think this is one of them. If it is—” Cole paused to yawn. “If it is, at least it cannot fester longer or get worse. You should tell her the rest.”  
“Then she would carry the same burden I do.”  
“Are you certain she would buckle? Are you so sure she would not make it lighter?”  
“I am certain it would hurt, regardless of how well she endured.”

  
“When all is ready, if your plan goes flawlessly— you think it will not hurt? You think it will be an instant unconsciousness, a mercy, an unending peaceful dark? For you, it may be a moment only, to pass between worlds. For _her_ it will be years as the Blight swallows up all that she loves. You forget, Solas, how slowly time passes in their eyes. You see their lives as blinks. You pity them because you think their happiness is over quickly and their light is so quickly extinguished. If you knew, if you could see as they do, you would not abandon them so lightly.”  
“I do not!” he cried. “I do not follow this path lightly, nor even truly by my own will.”  
“Not true,” said Cole. “It is always by your will. And though you regret it, you still brush aside their deaths because you will not have to see them. You will not have to experience it. Agony stretches out to an eternity for them. It slows the flood of time to a thin trickle. First terror and then sorrow. Pain after. Pain and rage until it fills them. She will not die, Solas. None of them will. She will last and last as a darkspawn. Full of sorrow and hunger like jagged teeth that never close but just drag on and on. There will be nothing left to end her.” He turned his head and stared at Solas. “And you— you will know the peace of uthenera, the expanse of the Fade. Yet you wish for her to stay safe in Skyhold. To draw out her misery even longer. Is that truly the fate you wish for her? For me? For the others? It is _you_ who lacks mercy, not her.”

“What do you _want_?” he hissed, a deep hollow sob building in the center of his chest. “What do any of you want me to do?”  
“Give her what she needs to find a way. Let her at least face death with her eyes open. You have given it to Vivienne, yet she is not as dear to you. You have given it to the Grey Wardens though you cannot bring yourself to trust them. Hasn’t the Inquisitor earned the truth?”  
“May the Void swallow me,” whispered Solas, “What am I doing?”


	68. Arbor Wilds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xvhy1B_iMJ4&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=51&spfreload=10

The War room was much emptier. He watched the others question Morrigan minutely about the eluvian and wished fervently that Iron Bull was there to confer with. The eluvian itself was no surprise, but the Arbor Wilds had been almost lost over the centuries. Even his own memory of the place was hazy and inexact. He had not been there since shortly after he’d won his freedom.

  
Morrigan had her own reasons to hold back what she knew, though he could not be certain what they were. He could tell she was, indeed, not saying everything she knew, and worry made him angry. He’d been thinking over what Cole had said, what the Inquisitor had asked, for too long now to remain calm. He closed his eyes as Morrigan spun a vision of their worst fears for the Inquisition.

She’d tried to comfort him as they made their way back to Skyhold. She’d tried to lessen the blow of what she’d said. It hadn’t worked. “You have stopped laughing,” she had said at last as they followed the still, smooth ice of the river down the mountains. “I miss your laugh.”

  
Cole rambled ahead of them, talking to the horse in a way only he understood. Solas had looked over at her and tried not to see the grey film he imagined would cloud her eyes, the dark writhing pathways of tainted blood beneath her skin. _I cannot leave you here_ , he thought, but he did not say it. “Forgive me. I have been concerned for you.”  
She smiled. “I survived. You can smile now.”  
“Well,” he said, as his face relaxed into an answering one, “as long as I have your permission.”  
“Is _that_ what you were waiting for?” She shook her head and stopped him suddenly pressing a hand into his chest. “Do not wait for someone to give you leave to be happy, Solas. There are too many in the world who would try to withhold it.”  
He closed a hand around her staff and drew her closer. “I believe I said as much to you, once. You are the only being I would trust with such power over me. There are many who demanded it, who wished to diminish my joys, to dole them out in scant crumbs— but _you_ are the only one who has ever asked. You are, indeed, generous with the happiness you give me, yet I crave it more than I ever did when it was a poor and shrunken thing.”  
“Then why are you so grim?” she asked, the tips of her fingers gliding over his face, as if they traced tears that were not there.  
“There is no joy without its twin, Vhenan.”  
“Tell me how to return it.” She drew closer still, her breath warm on his face. “I would chase away this sad brother, overwhelm you with joy if you just show me how.”  
_Come with me_ , his thoughts had screamed.

“Stop!” cried the Inquisitor, jarring him from the memory. “No more bickering. If we’re going to get there before Corypheus we all have to work together. Josephine, have your scouts…”  
Vivienne caught his eye. She smiled, a secret pride she shared with him, of seeing the Inquisitor coolly take charge. “It was not _my_ doing,” he murmured, “Though you keep insisting it should be.”  
“Oh, my dear,” whispered Vivienne lightly, “how much you underestimate your power over her. I told you. The best players of the Game are the ones that remember not to fall for their own deceptions. But, whatever the cause, calculated persuasion or true love, it has had the same effect. She is ready. Bravo, Solas.”

  
He bit back an irritated reply. Vivienne was, of course, right. At least in part. It did not matter how they had arrived here, though he gave Lavellan more credit for her own transformation than the Enchanter did. She _was_ ready. He only wished that he were.

“I am worried for the others. Word will not reach them in time to prevent their doubling back. Cassandra’s last raven puts them here—” The Inquisitor pointed at the map. “Which means by the time they’ve reached the next outpost—”  
“I will go,” said Cole. He huddled next to her. “Show me. I will go. Faster than birds.”  
“Splendid,” muttered Dorian, “Four mages with an army at their heels. Not conspicuous at all.”  
Solas smiled. “Perhaps if you toned down your outfit…”  
“Let’s not be hasty. There’s no need to be melodramatic about it.”  
He laughed softly and squeezed Dorian’s shoulder. “Never change,” he said.  
“I don’t intend to.”

But Solas’s own words haunted him a second too long and he found himself looking at a tainted Dorian, his finery tattered, his skin stretched and ashen, his nails long and curved into points as dark magic danced on their edge.  
“Are you okay?” Dorian reached to grab his arm and Solas stumbled back a step. Vivienne turned toward them again and she too, was changed.  
“Solas?” her soft voice spilled from cracked lips and the hand she reached to steady him crawled with pulsing webs of blight beneath her skin.  
Solas shut his eyes again, passing a hand over them. “I’m alright,” he said.  
A hand touched his back. “Don’t despair,” whispered Cole, “It is not too late. Nothing is inevitable.”  
He opened his eyes again, but the boy was gone and the others were staring at him. “I apologize,” he said quickly. “I am recovered.”  
The others turned back to their plans, but the Inquisitor lingered. Her magic pulled at him and he smiled reassuringly. Morrigan tapped her shoulder and she reluctantly turned back to the map.

The winter had seemed to drag on longer than any in his memory, a long dark stretch of biting cold interspersed with flashes of warmth that were his memories with her. He wondered if it were the long days of his life finally wearing thin or if it were just the massive weight of worry and grief that was breaking him. His chilled fingers were clumsy on the buckles of his saddle bags. He blew on them as the horse stamped beside him.

“Cullen told me the Arbor Wilds are always warm,” said the Inquisitor, coming up behind him. She pulled his hands into hers to warm them.  
“That will be a welcome change,” he said.  
“You could stay,” she said, “Someone should watch over Skyhold while our forces are gone.”  
His fingers were tingling and softening from a light purple back to an aching red. “I don’t wish to stay. It was a passing thing. A bad dream. I am well.”  
She doubted him, he could see her trying to decide whether to make it a command.

“Do not send me from you, my love.” He bent close to her ear. “I know something of where we are going. I do not trust Morrigan to guide you.”  
“But—”  
“She has no way to sift fact from tale. I know she is not at fault. But I would have you know the truth of this place. It is— important to me.”  
“If you knew where we would find the eluvian, why didn’t you tell me? Why wait until we may be too late?”  
“I did not know, Vhenan, not until Morrigan revealed it this morning. I thought the temple lost, even before I slept. But there can be only one place in the Arbor Wilds that could still hold one. It will only be a pile of stones to the others, but I want to show you what it once was. Give me this,” he pleaded, “Another ruin, another exploration with you. Another day, another breath—”  
“Peace,” she said, kissing the corner of his jaw. “If you are quite sure you are well—”  
“I am well. Ready for battle.”  
“I do owe you a ruin after all, for the blackberries.”  
He laughed softly. “You place such value on a handful of berries. You are a terrible haggler.”  
“Ah,” she said, tracing his smile, “ _there_ you are. It is not the berries I bargain for, but this. This smile. I would dig up every memory in the Fade in trade for this smile.”  
“I prefer the living woman beside me to any memory.”  
She drew him down into a kiss.

The ride was swift, but still took many days. Too many. His only assurance that Corypheus, too, had not yet reached his goal, was that they weren’t all dead. It was not comforting. The sounds of battle echoed far out on the edges of the jungle, long before they reached the first camp, and news when they did arrive was not good. The scouts and agents were barely holding on, sorely in need of Cullen’s reinforcements. The Inquisitor had to inform them that they were still a few hours behind.

“We need to end this quickly then,” said Vivienne. “Or risk having to retreat.”  
“The worst of the resistance seems to be near an old elven temple,” said the scoutmaster. “There seems to be a Dalish clan attempting to protect it from Corypheus’s forces. Seeker Pentaghast has been trying to cut a path through to aid them for days, but has been unable to manage it.”  
“The others are here then?” said the Inquisitor, “that is a relief. I did not know of any clans who would be in the area this time of the year, but I’m glad of the help.”  
“That temple is our goal, Inquisitor,” said Morrigan. “The eluvian will surely be there.”  
“There— is worse news, Inquisitor.” The scout wrung her hands. “Corypheus, himself, has been spotted moving toward the temple. We’ll do our best to cut you a path through his forces but—”  
“Help is on the way,” said the Inquisitor, “And we will do what we can to aid your men.”

“Kaffas, I forgot.” Dorian fumbled in his saddlebags. “These will help.” He handed the Inquisitor a small red stone and then passed another to Solas and Vivienne, handing some extra to the scout. “Have your men attach them to their weapons. It will help against the red lyrium in the Templars’ armor.”  
“How did you come up with this?” the Inquisitor asked, turning it over in her hand.  
“Those crystals Solas brought back from Emprise du Lion. I had to do _something_ to keep busy while I waited for you. Vivienne helped me isolate the—” Dorian flinched as an explosive erupted in the trees nearby.

“We’d best get moving, before the entire forest is reduced to ash,” said Morrigan.  
Solas threaded the rune into the leather bindings of his staff and followed the others into the humid green life of the forest. Scarlet fungus erupted from enormous fallen trees, a stark and poisonous warning.  
“This forest must be ancient,” said Dorian, “the trees have been here for centuries to grow so large.”  
“Indeed,” said Solas, “I believe the Arbor Wilds have remained undisturbed for millennia.”  
“But why?” asked Lavellan, “It’s so full of life— surely there are people that could thrive here.”  
“Can you not feel it?” asked Morrigan. “Something more powerful than the red templars stirs.”  
The Inquisitor glanced back at him. He brushed the back of her hand with his fingers. “More powerful, yes, but not malicious,” he said.  
“That remains to be seen,” said Morrigan.  
“Regardless, Corypheus’s forces seem to be on the defensive, and that is a good thing.” Vivienne glided closer to the sounds of fighting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the situation. Solas, too, was intensely curious to see this Dalish clan that had laid claim to his friend’s home. Would she be among them? Had she sent aid?

“Look,” said Vivienne as they emerged from the damp dark of a rotted tree trunk, “Val Royeaux sent troops. They are cooperating enough to do that, at least. We should help them. It will free them to help our scouts farther in.”  
Solas thought calling them troops might have been too generous. A handful of chevaliers scattered across a glade, each battling a different foe.  
“Are these all that remain?” asked the Inquisitor. A flash erupted from her fingers arcing over the ground and sizzled where it met the nearest templar.  
“I doubt it,” shouted Dorian as he sprinted over the clearing. “Probably just got separated. Don’t worry, sorora.”

Solas fade-stepped to another group and raised his hands to cast.  
“Oy! Watch it Droopy!”  
He scowled and fade-stepped again, out of the path of a plunging arrow. “Sera,” he grumbled. “I was dealing with him already,” he shouted toward the tree line, already moving toward another templar.  
“Too slow!” came the answer accompanied by a high pitched giggle. “Plenty of fun ahead, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  
He shook his head and froze the templar. The chevalier beside him looked slightly disgusted at the crunching noise his sword made as it thrust through the ice and into the templar’s lyrium crusted chest. He swung around, expecting another foe, but Vivienne’s fire roared around the lyrium beast that had been closing on him.

“Where are your fellows?” asked the Inquisitor. “Has the battle gone so badly?”  
The chevalier gave her a flourishing bow, which she ignored. She slammed the butt of her staff into the last foe and he staggered backward into Vivienne’s flame trap. It flashed and the man was ash.  
“It has been a close thing, my lady, but we have suffered few casualties thus far. We are stretched thin, the area is large and— forgive me, we expected the Inquisition to have more men on the field.”  
“I apologize. We have made haste and still arrived late. Aid is on the way. You have done well to hold this spot.”  
“You make for the temple then, Herald?” asked another.  
She nodded. “We expect that is Corypheus’s goal. We must stop him.”  
“Seeker Pentaghast called for most of our forces to aid her in breaking the red templars’ siege on the temple. We will await your soldiers and then join them in the push.”  
“Siege?” asked Morrigan. “They have reached the ruins then?”  
The chevalier shook his head, confused. “Ruins? No. The temple appears complete. Probably hidden because of the jungle.” He waved a hand at the trees. “Some band of elves is here defending it. They seem— stranger than most clans I’ve encountered. I don’t know what the temple is to them, but it is important. They fight— I have never seen the like. They fight as if their casualties do not matter. I don’t think they will retreat.”  
“Thank you,” said the Inquisitor. The chevalier nodded and led his small squad back toward the mustering camp.

Solas felt a spike of excitement and fear. He told himself not to hope for too much. Perhaps they were descendants. Some clan that clung to the remaining structure but had no knowledge of its significance. Or treasure hunters, seeking some lost piece of themselves, like Taven. In the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Are you well?” whispered the Inquisitor as the others spread out.  
“Yes—” he stammered. “These elves, they may not attack if we do not threaten their home. We don’t need the eluvian, Vhenan.”  
“I don’t intend to take it. This will be where we stand against Corypheus, for good or ill. That is a mighty enough task for the day. We can save temple exploring for another.”  
“Agreed,” he laughed. “Tomorrow will be soon enough for that.”

“Sera,” Dorian was calling, “Come down you Seheron monkey—”  
Sera lowered down, hanging from a low branch. “If I were a monkey, it wouldn’t be arrows I was flinging in Droopy’s direction,” she said.  
“Charming,” said Solas.  
She dropped down and shrugged. “Next time freeze them faster.”  
“Sera, I am so glad to see you well,” said the Inquisitor.  
“You too, Buckles. Didn’t look so grand last time.”  
“Is everyone else all right?”  
Sera squinted and tilted her head. “Mmm, no. Varric is hairy, Cassandra is scolding and Iron Bull snores too loud. Yes, Buckles, we’re all fine. Cassandra sent me back to check the ravens is all. But— here’s you, so I’ll swing ahead and fling some more… arrows.”  
Solas shook his head as she grinned and leapt up to grab the branch again. Her feet disappeared.

“Sera, wait,” called Dorian, fishing in his pack. “Present from Dagna.” He threw up another red rune and it vanished into the foliage as Sera laughed. They hurried on, pushing aside enormous waxy leaves and trying not to stumble over the dark and writhing roots that erupted from the ground. He could hear Iron Bull’s voice floating through the misty heat ahead of them. They emerged above a large pool. A towering waterfall tumbled into it, spraying the crumbling walls that remained beneath. Solas had long since ceased attempting to fit the places he saw in the waking world to those that inhabited his memory or those he had visited in the Fade. So little remained after all this time. The towers and great works had gone almost immediately, crumbling with the creation of the Veil. The forests next, many times changed in a thousand years. He doubted even the stoutest trees had been sapling or nut when he last walked in this place. Even the stones had changed, worn away by wind and rain and the shuddering earth. But here— here he thought he saw familiar shapes. He wondered if it were only his mind wishing it was so, or if he really remembered the waterfall. He brushed it aside for another time. Iron Bull was charging through the water into a tight knot of Venatori. The fell like ninepins, the water closing over them a split second before they struggled up, spluttering.

“Thirty-three,” he shouted.  
“Thirty-seven, Tiny, you’re falling behind.” Varric’s voice echoed back over the space. Solas did not wish to know what they were counting.  
“Watch your flank,” called Dorian, already casting at the Venatori spilling down from the ruined walls above Iron Bull.  
“Knew they were there five minutes ago,” shouted Bull, “but I didn’t want to ruin your entrance.” One of the Venatori burst open in a cloud of choking smoke from Dorian’s spell. “Yeah, like that,” said Bull and slammed his mace into the chestplate of another soldier.

Solas lost them in the whirl of battle, slipping through the knee deep pool toward Varric. A Warden surprised him, leaping from the spray of the falls. His ice spell went wide and the falls chimed as they hardened and then burst in a shower of glittering snow. His staff made a twinkling arc of droplets and smashed into the Warden’s descending sword. The momentum drove him backwards, but the staff held the sword above his chest. He struggled to push back, but the stones beneath his feet slid and rolled and the Warden kept shoving. There was a dull thunk and a bloom of red pulsed from the Warden’s forehead as he stumbled backward and slumped to the side. Solas spun to see Varric just behind him.  
“Ma serannas, Master Tethras.”  
“Andraste’s flaming ass, am I glad to see _you_. Is she— it wasn’t like Bartrand was it?”

Solas glanced over to where the Inquisitor was kneeling beside Vivienne inspecting a Warden’s corpse. “No. The exposure was thankfully, minor. Over time, and with distance between her and the lyrium, she returned to health.”  
“Good. That’s a relief. Cole says Corypheus is here, somewhere in all this—” Varric waved a hand in distaste. “Outdoors shit. Didn’t really fancy meeting him without her.”  
“Rest assured, Varric,” Solas answered grimly, “We will not meet him without her. All his thoughts are bent upon her now. If she were to die, he wouldn’t pause to battle _us_. We would likely meet the same fate before we even realized it.”  
“It’s amazing how cheery you always are, Chuckles. You’re just a ray of sunshine for us all.”  
“I was not always as you see me now.”  
“What, bitter and gloomy?” Varric grinned and Solas shook his head.  
“Realistic and prepared.”  
“I don’t believe it. I’ve met too many elves. I think you are broody from the minute you spring from your mother’s womb. Well— except Daisy, but I don’t think there’s an explanation for her.”

He looked around, expecting to see Cassandra. “Where is the Seeker?”  
“Further in,” said Varric. “She’s got the bulk of Leliana’s scouts with her. But they were never trained for long battles. I hope you brought good news along with the Inquisitor.”  
Solas nodded as the others caught up with him. “Commander Cullen should be just behind us.”  
“That is a relief. I thought Cassandra would outlast us all, but even _she_ was flagging when we left her.”  
“We should move on then,” said the Inquisitor. “I’m glad to see you well, Varric.”  
“Not as glad as I am to see you,” said the dwarf.  
“You should go rest. The path to the muster camp should be clear. I’ll send Cassandra after you as soon as I can.”  
“You sure? We could come with you—”  
“I’m sure,” she insisted. “Save me a seat and an ale. And don’t start the good stories without us.”  
Varric grinned. “The good stories _never_ start without you, Inquisitor.”

It was not long before they reached a camp thick with Venatori. The scarlet canvas of their tents almost blending in with the vibrant blooms that clustered around the tree roots. The Inquisitor was too hasty, concerned for Cassandra. She rushed in, her lightning crackling and pulsing in great twisting branches of white fire.  
“Wait, your barrier,” cried Dorian leaping in beside her. Solas had all he could do to keep the Venatori from overwhelming them, blasting them with ice as they charged toward the Inquisitor. He could feel the warmth of Vivienne’s flames rushing past him, but he had no time to look. Morrigan’s barrier flew up around him and colored the world a soft green. More Venatori, called by the cries of their fellows, arrived. Too many, even for them. He could see the look of panic on the Inquisitor’s face as Dorian’s barrier was breached and they grappled with an assassin. If he stopped casting to reach her, Vivienne would fall. Perhaps Dorian as well. A puff of shadow caught the corner of his eye.

“What new hell is this?” muttered Morrigan. An elf leapt into his vision, slicing a frozen templar from crown to belly. The elf disappeared in a new flash of dark. And then more clouds, more elves, slipping in and out of the fray, sometimes the flash of a blade and the thud of a body the only sign they’d been there. He grabbed Vivienne’s arm and fade-stepped toward the Inquisitor. The assassin fell before Dorian just as they reached her and Solas say the thin flame of the sun on a blade as it descended. His staff slammed up almost without thought. The elf’s dagger sunk deep into the staff’s wood. There was a gasp of surprise, but it was not from him. It came from the elf in front of him. He took advantage of the man’s shock and pushed Dorian behind him with one arm.

“Atishan!” shouted Solas, “Te’nu.”  
The elf took a step back and glanced back at the others. The glade was silent, a dozen elves staring at them, weapons a thicket of shining thorns. “Atishan,” he repeated. He lowered his staff and yanked the dagger from it. He handed it carefully back to the elf, who took an unsteady step backward. He sheathed the dagger and there was a sudden quick breeze as the others disappeared in small plumes of shadow.  
“Do not enter the temple,” said the elf. His voice was slow, thick. As if he had to search his memory for the right words. Solas nodded, and the elf disappeared.

“Friend of yours?” asked Dorian. His hands were shaking. Solas’s own didn’t feel so steady either.  
“For the moment,” he answered.  
“They’re fighting the Venatori. That’s enough for me,” said the Inquisitor. “The enemy of my enemy—”  
“May still be an enemy, my dear,” finished Vivienne. “Best to stay cautious. It would seem these elves do not recognize the Inquisition’s authority. Once the Venatori are gone, they may turn on us.”  
“Once the Venatori are gone, I have no desire to remain in their territory,” she said. “But yes, I will be wary.”

But he had little fear of them. He had been recognized. He was known. They would not attack the Inquisition again, not unless forced. Solas didn’t know how it was that they remained, but he was deeply grateful. Here, at least, was a pocket of home. And a chance of finding aid. If they could stop Corypheus upon the very doorstep of Mythal’s house— it could all be over within hours. He watched the Inquisitor handing Vivienne a lyrium potion. Her robes were torn from the battles, the fabric fluttering in the light breeze that passed through the dense trees. Dorian frowned and picked at the fabric and she laughed. A few more hours with her. And then. He felt as if his breastbone cracked beneath his flesh and he pressed a hand to his chest to stop the sudden pain. She caught the movement and looked over at him, the smile sliding from her in sudden concern. But there was no time to stop. A great roar of men rushed through the trees and the Inquisitor was off, running, the others close behind. Commander Cullen’s men swept through the forest in a vast tide, carrying Solas and the Inquisitor with them. The course was set, no matter how he wished he could turn aside.

They stood, at last, outside the great temple. He had expected the wards to crumble, to wear thin with the stones, tumble away and shatter with the tiles. But it stood, intact, even the wards thick with power.  
“They warned us not to enter,” said the Inquisitor. “It is their home, not mine.”  
“I understand, Inquisitor,” said Cassandra, resting against the crook of a tree. “But Corypheus did not honor their wishes. He is already inside. If we do not stop him— it will not matter whose home it is. Nothing will stand. I think saving the world will be an adequate apology.”  
“But invading—”  
“We need not take everyone,” said Vivienne. “A small force will be less— overwhelming. And less likely to draw Corypheus’s attention.”  
“And move faster,” added Morrigan.  
“We’ll remain to stop reinforcements. I would rather be at your side— but what I have seen of these elves is formidable. I believe they can match the Venatori. And I will not be far, should I be needed.”  
“You’re always needed, Cassandra,” said the Inquisitor. “And there’s no one I’d trust more at my back.”

He felt a deep sense of loss as he watched her hug the Seeker. Not only for the Inquisitor, but for the friendships of the others as well. _Find another, Mythal. Send me someone to take my place_ , he thought, closing his eyes against the sight.

“Let’s get this done,” said the Inquisitor. He let her sweep him along into the sudden cool dark of the temple.


	69. Temple of Mythal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCdEuMk7C9E&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=47

“I hear fighting ahead,” said Morrigan, the clash of metal clanging off the tight stone arch above them.  
“Prepare yourself, my dear, it’s likely Corypheus will make an appearance,” said Vivienne, her staff already glowing with a spell.  
“I’m counting on it,” said the Inquisitor, her face grim.

  
“Solas,” whispered Dorian, holding him back by the arm. “If something happens— I know what you asked Vivienne to do.”  
“What? But—”  
“It’s not Vivienne’s fault. A little bird told me. One with a big hat.”  
Solas scraped a hand over his face in frustration. “Now is not the time,” he said.  
“It might be the only time. Just in case— I left you some notes. In the Mareno. It’s in your desk. Not much, but a few ideas from my own work with Felix. I didn’t want them to be lost.”  
“We aren’t going to—” he fell silent as a shout echoed down the archway. “Inquisitor?”

He sprinted toward the courtyard. He heard Corypheus’s rasping growl before his eyes fell on the Inquisitor who knelt behind the balustrade. He stopped Dorian in the shadow of the archway. Corypheus stood below, towering over the small group of elves that waited on a long bridge, its yellow tiles glinting gold and warm in the sun. The Inquisitor cried out as he lifted the man who had dared to stand against him from his feet. Solas felt the deep pull of the wards against the Veil. The glowed in warning but Corypheus took another step forward, ignoring them. The cool blue of Mythal’s magic was so familiar to Solas that he barely realized he felt it until it washed over Corypheus and unknitted him, peeling skin from muscle, unraveling muscle from bone until all that remained was a dark splash of soot on the end of the bridge.

The Inquisitor stood up, shocked. He watched a slow smile of relief spread across her face, could see the laugh of joy that sat on the tip of her tongue. She ran down the steps and knelt near the soot pile. It was over. At last, it was over. He followed her down to the bridge, kneeling beside her.

“But where is the orb, Solas?” she whispered. He plunged his hands into the ash, trying to feel its solid weight, the deep, intricate ridges that he knew so well. But there was only ash.  
“That was it?” asked Dorian. “Bit anticlimactic.” He twisted his mustache. “Not that I’m disappointed. More time for better things. Come, sorora, let’s tell the others the good news.” He held out a hand to help her up.

“No, something’s wrong. Look,” said Morrigan pointing to the far end of the bridge. The lyrium in Samson’s armor glittered ruby shafts of light across the stones. There was a groan behind them. The Inquisitor rose and spun around. Vivienne pulled her away from the man that was jerking and twitching on the ground beside her. Solas watched in horror as the blight spread over the man’s skin, blackening and bubbling, melting away. A font of black blood erupted from his nose and mouth and Dorian pushed Solas back, out of the spray. The man fell forward, his form still shifting and twisting, ripping out of the scale armor he’d warn.

“It cannot be!” cried Morrigan.  
“It _is_ ,” gasped Solas as Corypheus’s claw scraped free of the black slime.  
“Across the bridge, _now_ ,” shouted the Inquisitor, yanking Vivienne behind her as she sprinted. A dragon screamed above them. Dorian twisted to look and Solas gave him a hard shove.

“Don’t look back,” he yelled. The skin of his neck prickled and he felt the stone shake beneath him. The door ahead was already inching closed. Searing heat licked up his back and he grabbed Dorian and fade-stepped through the doorway. It slammed shut as they tumbled to the floor. He heard the ward snap shut, felt the Inquisitor’s hands lifting his head, and opened his eyes to see her hovering over him. “Dorian—” he said, turning to find him.  
“I’m here,” Dorian said. “Just— give me a moment.”

The Inquisitor helped him sit up. He stared at her, unable to turn from her.  
“That was— unexpected,” said Vivienne. He twined his fingers into the Inquisitor’s. She was watching the others.  
Dorian popped up beside him. “Did you see that black bile? He’s using the blight somehow. Like he— he’s transferring himself somehow. Like one of the Old Gods.”  
“Impossible,” said Morrigan. “That _thing_ is not a god—”

The dusty light leaking into the temple softened Lavellan’s outline, tinted her like a well-worn memory even as he felt the pulse in her wrist beneath his thumb.  
“Why impossible? You saw it with your own eyes. And we know he uses the Calling like—”

She flinched and glanced down at her wrist and he realized he was holding her too tightly. He pulled her closer instead of letting go. “Emma lath?” she whispered, the argument escalating behind them.  
“Not yet,” he said, “It is not yet dawn.” He traced the light that sank into her skin, that tipped the curve of her lips, knowing the lie was deep and burrowing even as he spoke it.  
“Help me push back the sun,” she said, kissing him. “How do we fight him?”  
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I did not expect him to discover the secret to immortality.”  
“He wants this Well of Sorrows. He must need it for something. Perhaps we need not fight him, not yet. If we stop him from claiming what he seeks.”  
“Well of Sorrows?”  
“The man on the bridge said it was not for him.” She looked up as the door shuddered. He pressed her closer. “He’s coming. We must move. We have to find this Well and protect it.” She helped him up and they followed Morrigan deeper into the temple.

“I thought we were looking for an eluvian,” said Dorian, “but the elves seem to think otherwise.”  
“Yes, Lady Morrigan, what is this Well of Sorrows?” asked Vivienne coolly.  
“I am— uncertain,” she answered.  
“It seems we’ve been led astray, darling,” said Vivienne, tucking the torn cloth of the Inquisitor’s robe back.  
Morrigan scowled. “Yes, I was wrong, does that please you? Whatever the Well of Sorrows is, Corypheus wants it, thus we must keep it from his grasp.”  
“Then we’d better reach it before Samson,” said the Inquisitor  
“Any clue what to do with it once we _find_ it?” asked Dorian. “How are we supposed to fight something that can just jump from body to body?”  
“Fight it someplace alone?”  
“Unacceptable,” said Vivienne. “We are not letting you face that fiend alone. Besides— these magics seem to be doing a great deal to keep him at bay for the moment. Perhaps the residents have more useful techniques to share?”  
“I thought you said they could be dangerous,” said the Inquisitor.  
“So they could be. But we are dangerous too, my dear. Never forget that.”

The last time he had been here, he’d been almost dead. Bloodied and drained after he’d tried to aid a group of slaves attempting to escape one of the lower nobility. It had been a disaster, betrayed from the inside. The people had meant little to Elgar’nan. Less even than his own, property of his servant, a slightly more lenient enslavement. But the chance to crush Fen’harel— that had drawn him. Solas’s own presence doomed the slaves, and he hadn’t known it until too late. He, alone, was powerful enough to survive Elgar’nan’s wrath. But only barely. He’d dragged himself through the eluvians to this place. His own blood probably still clung to some of the tiles they walked upon. He’d collapsed on her doorstep, asking for the sanctuary she’d promised him.

She’d hidden him away, in a tiny, dark hovel where he lay for days. He’d spent the first shaking with cold, though it was high summer. He’d lost too much blood to warm himself. He could hear Elgar’nan raging outside, could hear the soldiers’ footsteps echoing over the courtyard’s flagstones. It had taken hours for Mythal to persuade her husband to leave empty-handed. She’d come, herself, in the darkest hours of the night, poured healing into him, cleaned away the blood from his skin. Pressed the small sapling that would become Tarasyl'an Te'las into his hand. And then, she’d sent him away. Him, and all those they’d freed together. It was too dangerous to remain in her temple, even so far removed from Arlathan. The Evanuris still knew he was there. They would not tolerate it anymore, not even for Mythal. He had not seen the temple since the morning he’d stepped beyond the arch so long ago.

It had changed. _He_ had changed. It was not only the moss that clung to the stones or the water that pried channels into the floors. It was a badly decaying echo. A memory worn paper thin. A great stone tablet stood in the center of the courtyard. He could not place it, nor the carved puzzle tiles that glowed with the touch of the Inquisitor’s feet. He watched her brush the sand from the tablet, squint at the deep cuts upon it.  
“It’s ancient elven, I can’t make much out.” She did not turn to him, but her magic pulled at him. He came to stand beside her.  
“Atish’all vir abelasan. Enter the path of the Well of Sorrows,” he offered, falling silent as he read the rest.  
“Does it say what the well is?” she asked him.  
“It says something about knowledge— here,” Morrigan pointed. Solas watched her, wondering how much she gleaned from the tablet. How much her mother had told her. He would not interfere until it was necessary. Mythal had always been subtle and patient, if she had waited, then she had her reasons.  
“Supplicants to Mythal would have paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry.” Morrigan pointed to one of the tiles.

The Inquisitor did glance at him this time, worried.  
“It was not intended to harm, Vhenan,” he said gently, “just to teach patience and clear thinking.”  
Dorian rubbed his hands together. “Come on sorora, it will be fun. We’ll do it together.” He hopped up to the platform and the Inquisitor smiled. He’d yet to see either of them resist the draw of a puzzle.

“Where are the Venatori?” asked Vivienne. “I highly doubt Samson made time for rituals.”  
“We should ensure they are not lingering here,” said Solas, “though I doubt the guardians of this place would allow them to.”

They headed for the stairs. There were a few bodies scattered on the landing. “It seems you are right, Master Solas,” said Morrigan, toeing one over. “But where are the rest?”  
He continued up, Vivienne and Morrigan splitting from him to explore the far side of the balcony. He was not pleased to see a stone wolf staring at him. It had not been here in his memory. Had Mythal placed it here? Or was it the people left in his wake? Had it been a token of honor or one of abuse? The elf who had attacked the Inquisitor had recognized him, he had no doubt of it, though he could not place the face of the man in his mind. But it had been terror, not friendship that stayed his hand. What tales had been told of him in this place? Were there none who remembered him as he had intended?

“Stop moving!” the Inquisitor scolded below him. Solas leaned over the railing to watch them. She, at least, had seen a better face, had known a kinder man. The man he had always striven to become.  
“But unless we know the right pattern, there may be thousands of combinations. Until we start trying some, we’ll never get through,” said Dorian, hopping diagonally and groaning when the tiles stopped glowing.  
“So what’s your plan?”  
He shrugged. “Light them all up? What’s the worst that can happen?”  
“We could end up cinder. We don’t have Corypheus’s ability to swap bodies at whim.”  
“Hmm. Good point.” Dorian smoothed his mustache and stared at the tiles.  
“If the puzzle were intended to punish failure, the courtyard would be kneed deep in ash by now, my love,” Solas called down to them. “It was meant to facilitate meditation and focus. The only consequence to getting it wrong will be that the door does not open.”  
“Any hints?” asked Dorian.  
“And spoil it?”  
“I appreciate the sentiment but we _are_ in a bit of a rush…”  
“Very well. Yes, the object of these is normally to light them all without leaving the stones or doubling back.”

“Why would _this_ be here?” Solas stiffened at Morrigan’s voice behind him. Dorian and the Inquisitor had already turned back to the puzzle below.  
“Is anything wrong?” asked Vivienne. He turned slowly to face them.  
“It depicts the Dread Wolf,” answered Morrigan, waving vaguely at the statue beside him. The absurdity of the whole thing irritated him. “In Elven tales, he tricks their gods into sealing themselves into the Beyond for all time. Setting a Fen’harel statue in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry.”  
He shook his head. “For all your ‘knowledge’, Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.” It was hard not to sneer, but the statue had stung him more than he realized.  
“Pray tell, what does our Elven ‘expert’ sense lurking behind this?”  
But the Inquisitor and Dorian appeared before he could answer.

“Many things change over the centuries. Stories are forgotten and lost and pieced back together again. Fen’harel may have meant something quite different to the people who put this here. Or to the clan that resides here now,” said Lavellan, pointedly avoiding looking at him.  
“Let’s save the analysis for later, shall we?” said Dorian. “Preferably when we’re back in Skyhold with an excellent bottle of wine.”  
“Agreed,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Good. Your treat,” laughed Dorian. They proceeded to the door which shone with blue fire. She lingered with him as the others passed through.

“This is painful for you,” she said, pressing a palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry. I should have known better.”  
He shook his head. “Even I did not expect this. I thought it had fallen to ruin long ago. I could not have predicted what standing here again would do.” He looked back at the sunny courtyard. “I do not regret it. It gives me hope that we may find aid here. These people, they have been here since before the fall. They have warned us away once— I don’t expect they will welcome our trespass.”  
“I only wish to stop Corypheus. I will go no further than I must.”  
“I know, Vhenan.” He glanced toward the far end of the corridor where the others stood examining a mosaic. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I think Morrigan’s interest goes beyond ours. She did not tell you all that she read. I am uncertain if she is lying or is simply unaware of what it says.”  
“What does it say?” she asked pulling slightly back to look at him.  
“Do not take the Well, my love. Unless we have no choice. Almost anything is preferable to that.”  
She nodded. “I understand,” she said.  
His fingers lingered over hers where they rested against his face. “I hope you never have to,” he said.


	70. Vir'abelasan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGg1pGaCb5s&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=50

The hall had extensive damage. A long gash that split the room and small fires scattered throughout spoke of the battles that had only just finished. Samson still stood above them, barking orders to his red templars. He leapt into the hole and the Inquisitor cried out in frustration.  
“Inquisitor, barrier,” shouted Dorian, chasing after her as she rushed toward the hole.

  
Vivienne’s spirit blade flashed and spun. Solas had his own templars to deal with. The room was cluttered with rubble, the roof long since tumbled into great boulders. They were easily thrown. He couldn’t help a slight surge of excitement as a broken column slammed into three men and crushed them beneath it, their armor cracking and snapping under the weight. He was much stronger than he’d been just a month or two before. Perhaps it was being here. He flicked his hand and chunk of tile shattered, shrapnel slicing through steel helmets. The temple fell silent again.

The Inquisitor looked around for more foes. “Hurry,” she said on seeing they were alone, “we may still catch them.” She ran to the edge of the broken floor.  
“Hold a moment,” cried Morrigan. Solas bristled as she held out a hand to stop the Inquisitor. “While they rush ahead, the petitioner’s path leads to our true destination. We should follow it.”  
“Our true destination is stopping Corypheus, Morrigan,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Precisely. Samson is a distraction. Corypheus doesn’t care about him. Or us. He wants the Well. We should follow the path.”  
One of Vivienne’s perfect eyebrows lifted in disdain. “Lady Morrigan was wrong about Corypheus seeking an eluvian. Do we trust her now? Consider, Inquisitor, while we dally with rituals, Inquisition soldiers are dying outside. This is the swifter way.”  
Solas sighed. “In this case, I must agree with the witch. This is ancient ground, deserving of our respect.”  
Dorian cleared his throat and nudged Solas with his elbow. “Sweetness entices. Play nice,” he murmured behind his hand, pretending to smooth his mustache.

But Morrigan ignored them anyway. “Yes, there is urgency, but we cannot reach the Well unprepared. They are trying to lead us away. _That_ door is the one that will lead to their goal.”  
“Their goal, or yours?” asked the Inquisitor. Morrigan led her swiftly away. Solas felt a prickle of unease.

“Out with it, Solas,” said Dorian as soon as they were out of earshot. “What is this thing?”  
“In truth, I do not know,” he said, unwilling to turn his eyes from the Inquisitor.  
“You know _something_ ,” said Vivienne, “that much is clear.”  
“I know that whatever it is, it binds the person that takes it to the will of Mythal,” he answered. “If the opportunity is offered, I would not take it. Whatever the power that might be gained.”  
“Why is that?” asked Vivienne.  
“Because your deeds and thoughts would no longer be your own. Under the guise of great power you would be utterly enslaved.”  
Dorian shuddered. “Why in heavens does Morrigan want it?”  
“I am uncertain. Perhaps she does not understand. Perhaps, like Corypheus, she believes she can overcome the binding and bend it to her will. I think it more likely that she simply doesn’t _believe_ in Mythal.”  
“Do you?” asked Vivienne, and he did turn then, to meet the Enchanter’s steady gaze.  
“Yes,” he said evenly. “Otherwise I would have agreed with you, that leaping down is the better way. I did not say otherwise to spite you.”

There was no time for more. The Inquisitor looked deeply unsettled. “We will follow the path. But I need your minds, I wish to move as quickly as we can.” She touched his arm. “I wish we had more time,” she said.  
“As do I. The cost is too great to linger.” He glanced at the pit. “But the cost of being overly hasty would ruin us all.”

The only person who seemed pleased at the prospect was Dorian. But Solas could hardly begrudge him. The puzzles were quickly solved and any other time he would have delighted in walking the meditation gardens of Arlathan with him just to watch his mind working several steps ahead of them. But he could see the imagined casualties piling up in the Inquisitor’s mind with every passing moment and what ought to have been soothing and clarifying was instead panicked. She had opened the unlocked doors with an audible sigh of relief, while Solas felt his heart squeeze painfully, every step closer to the end. Closer to abandoning her to an eternity of madness and blight. Terror and sorrow distracted him, made him forget everything but her and his frantic thoughts of how to save her. So it was the Inquisitor who first realized that they were not alone.

“We’re being watched,” she murmured as they approached Mythal’s altar, empty now, where the throne had been. She froze as a man appeared above them, coolly pacing. He stopped to stare at them.  
“You are unlike the other invaders.” He bent slightly toward them, intent on the Inquisitor. “You have the features of those who call themselves Elvhen.”  
Solas heard the insult in that, saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders tighten as if she’d been struck. He moved closer, coming to stand beside her. The man did not miss his signal.  
“You bear the mark of magic, which is familiar.” His gaze shifted to Solas. “How has this come to pass?” he asked. Solas was certain it was not the Inquisitor he was speaking to. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”  
“We have come to stop them. They mean to take what you shield,” said the Inquisitor. “If they gain it—”  
“They will not,” the man said abruptly.  
“No,” she agreed, “I will not allow that to happen.”

The man thought for a moment, seemed to accept her answer. “I am called Abelas,” he offered, “We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion.”  
That was how then. They had entered uthenera just as he had, that was how they persisted all those years, made the temple a place of fear, a place to be avoided.  
“I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor, her breath catching.  
“It is not your doing,” said Abelas. Again his eyes rested on Solas and then away. “I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink form the Vir’abelasan. It is not _for_ you. It is not for any of you.”

“You’re— you’re ancient elves?” asked Dorian. “From before the Imperium destroyed Arlathan?”  
Abelas shook his head. “It was not the Shemlen who destroyed Arlathan. We warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.”  
“What? But that’s—”

“It is a strange thing, to awaken and find the stories shift and twist, to find the world stranger and more foreign each time. Still, we endure. The Vir’abelasan must be preserved.”  
“We do not wish to disturb it, only to stop those who have invaded,” said the Inquisitor.

Abelas stood long in thought. “I believe you,” he said at last. “You have followed the rites of petition and shown respect for Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart and never return.”  
He saw the blow hit her, the sharp exclusion and denial. “I know it is harsh, Vhenan, but this is our goal is it not? We have no reason to fight these sentinels,” he said quietly.  
Morrigan shook her head. “Consider carefully. You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own,” she whispered. She did not know that Abelas could hear. Solas did.  
“I am no _thief_ ,” said the Inquisitor. “This Well is not ours. This place is not ours. They do not claim us as kin, we have no right to it. Not even to stop Corypheus.”  
“That is short sighted, Inquisitor. Would you allow the world to be destroyed for a principle?”  
“It is all that distinguishes us from Corypheus.” She turned to Abelas and Solas knew she was stronger than he’d ever been. “I accept your offer,” she said.  
“You will be guided to those you seek.” He turned to Morrigan. “As to the Vir’abelasan, it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

Morrigan cried out and shifted into a raven, chasing after Abelas though the Inquisitor called for her to stop. “We must hurry,” she said, “We cannot break our promises.”  
But the elf that led them was terribly slow. He had not expected the elves to age. Had she been left to keep watch for centuries and the years caught up with her at last? Or had she belonged to one of the clans that Abelas was so disdainful of? She hobbled up the stairs. The Inquisitor jumped as something bashed the stout door at the top.

“Fighting,” she cried, “We have to help them—”  
“ _No_ , sorora,” said Dorian, gently pushing her staff down. “We can help them most by stopping Corypheus.”  
“Our soldiers fight to give us a chance,” said Vivienne, tucking the tear in the Inquisitor’s robe back for the sixth time. “The elves too. We must honor that.” She squeezed Lavellan’s shoulder. “Your decency has led us so _far_ , darling. Trust ours to bring you the rest of the way.”  
The Inquisitor nodded. Solas took her hand and pulled her away. The guide opened a passage in the wall. For a moment they could see the Sentinels battling behind an elaborate grate, but he pushed her gently from it. “Let them do as they must, my love,” he said. She turned and gasped in wonder at the untouched beauty of the inner temple. Mosaics in gold and precious stones towered above them and large offerings of vast wealth lay at the feet of statues. She had eyes only for the intricate portrayal of Mythal. She brushed her fingertips over it.

  
“There is so much we could know, if only—” she shook her head and blinked back tears.  
“I will bring you here in dreams,” he promised quietly.  
The guide turned back and looked at her intently. She reached a withered hand to the Inquisitor’s face, tracing the vallaslin. “Dirth ash or em’an,” she said at last.  
“Vin,” said Solas. The Inquisitor touched her own face, confused, but the guide scurried on.

The sounds of battle swelled and receded as they passed large galleries and courtyards, climbed long flights of stairs past the cells of the faithful. Solas could not stop himself from wondering at each turn if they had reached the spot where Mythal had died. If her enemies had penetrated this far to harm her, or if she’d met them in the courtyard to protect her people. He had never once tried to find the memory in the Fade, had never wanted to see it. But now— he thought, perhaps, his imaginings might be worse than knowing. The guide opened a final door at last and bowed before dissolving in a puff of smoke.

“I take it that means we’re here then,” said Dorian.  
The sound of fighting rose from the bottom of the stairs ahead. “Fight on, an army of these bastards won’t stop us!” Samson’s voice rose up above the fray.  
The Inquisitor ran forward. “The runes, Inquisitor,” called Dorian, “Don’t forget the runes. It should weaken their armor.” She looked back and nodded. Solas checked his own, passing a hand over it to charge the deep ruby shard.

  
The Sentinels were falling one after another, coming to the ends of their long lives on the blades of corrupted templars. Mythal’s defeat was almost total, the thing she strove to destroy returning to slay her own people at last. _Hope remains_ , he told himself, _even if it is only in another world_. The Inquisitor sprinted toward them, but she was too late. Samson turned to her with a sneer, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his blade.

“Inquisitor. You don’t know when to stop. You’ve hunted us across Thedas. I should have guessed you’d follow us into this— _hole_.”  
Solas felt a hot surge of anger leave a bitter burn in his throat. But the Inquisitor was kind, even in this.  
“I spoke with Maddox. I would have spared him— but I was too late. The poison had already done its work. I’m sorry. He is interred in Skyhold along with everyone who has fallen in this awful war. It’s not too late, Samson. You don’t have to do this—”  
“Corypheus chose me twice. First as his general, now as his vessel for the Well of Sorrows.”  
“You don’t know what it is,” said Solas. “It will take your mind long before Corypheus does. It is enslavement—”  
“No,” barked Samson, “It is power. And wisdom. And I give it to Corypheus so he can walk into the Fade without your precious anchor and make this world anew.”  
“And then?” asked Dorian. “He doesn’t care for you. You’re just the cup, easily dashed against the stones when you are empty.”  
“You know nothing of Corypheus. You are no match for him.”  
“Neither are you,” said Vivienne. “When he has taken the Well, you and your soldiers will only be a hindrance to him. Mouths to feed and feet to shod. He will not want to play nursemaid to an army of lyrium crazed templars. You were sharp once, Samson. Think like a general. What could you possibly offer him once he is a god?”  
“Worship. And a hand to smite down the doubters.” Samson grinned and a pulse of red flowed from him.

“Now, Inquisitor, channel the rune,” cried Dorian already casting. Solas bent his focus through the rune. There was an intense cracking sound and Samson fell to his knees.  
“What did you do?” he cried, even as the lyrium began to slough off his armor in thin shards. “My lyrium— kill them all!” he snarled.  
“Out of the water,” warned the Inquisitor, arcs of lightning already leaping from her fingertips, crackling through the water. It sent up plumes of steam and anguished cries from the other end of the pool.  
“Barrier,” Dorian sighed, even as it snapped up around them.  
“What would I do without you?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“Most likely get repeatedly bashed with pointy objects,” he said, sending one of the templars screaming in terror.  
Vivienne cried out, “I can’t do this alone!”

Solas turned. Samson was closing in on her, walking through Vivienne’s fireballs as if they were smoke. He fade-stepped to her. He wrenched a boulder from the edge of the pool and sent it crashing into Samson. The templar stumbled, but rose too quickly.  
“Void take it,” muttered Solas, sending ice to slow him. Samson shattered it with a tinkling rattle.  
“It’s the armor,” shouted Dorian as he ran toward them. “Use the rune again.”

There was a clang over his head as Vivienne’s spirit sword stopped Samson from cleaving him in two. “Ma serannas,” he said, focusing again on the rune. The bloody glow drained from Samson and a sizzle of lightning crept up his armor, leaving him jittering in its thin, crooked fingers. The lightning faded and Samson collapsed. “Those were my men,” he sobbed. “You ruined them all. You can’t take the Well from Corypheus.”

Vivienne sighed. “What’s to be done with him? He’s a wreck of a man. Even if there were some chance of weaning him from the lyrium— his mind has long since been broken.”  
“All the more reason for kindness,” said the Inquisitor. “We’ll take him with us to Skyhold. Figure out what’s to be done with him after that.”  
Solas shuddered at the idea of having him so close to her, but he picked the man up. Abelas raced by them, his fingers flashing to reveal a stone stair. A raven followed close behind.

“Morrigan,” said the Inquisitor. “We have to stop her.”  
“Perhaps we should let the elves destroy the Well,” said Vivienne. “It would stop both Corypheus and Morrigan and leave these people in peace.”  
“The Well is their entire purpose now,” said Solas. “I fear without it, they will fade away completely.” He pulled Samson up the steps along with them.

A shallow pool of clear water stretched toward the eluvian at the top. “The Well of Sorrows,” gasped Samson. Dorian cast a holding spell to keep him from leaping for it. A swirl of purple burst from the tile and Morrigan rose from it. Abelas came to a halt just before her.  
“Stop, Morrigan,” called the Inquisitor.  
“You heard his parting words,” she answered, “the elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”  
“He’s trying to protect it. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To protect the wonders of the world?”  
“She lied, my dear,” said Vivienne. “She only wants it for herself.”  
Abelas sagged. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.” There was a deep longing in his voice that cut into Solas.  
“You would have destroyed it yourself, given the chance,” sneered Morrigan.  
“To keep it from _your_ grasping fingers,” he snapped. “Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.”  
“ _Fool_. You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows?”

“Enough!” cried the Inquisitor. “We are not here to rob anyone. Samson is defeated. Corypheus has no way to take it now.”  
“As soon as we leave, he will just send another! The Sentinels are dwindling, they said it themselves. How many more attacks can this place stand? Or will the Inquisition take the sentinels’ place? _You_ are not immortal, Inquisitor.”  
“How well I know,” she said quietly, rubbing the anchor.  
“The Well clearly offers power,” continued Morrigan, “If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford _not_ to use it?”

  
The Inquisitor closed her eyes. Solas felt the weight of the choice. It was a poor one, each path costing too much. Abelas shook his head. “You don’t even know what you ask,” he said. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on, through this. All that we were— all that we knew, it would be lost forever.”  
“Look at us!” cried the Inquisitor, “We’re already lost. Less and less every season. Clinging to a handful of fragments and—” she looked suddenly at Solas. “And lies. You mock us, but we’re what remains. If you would see your people return to what they were, then you must help us. We cannot know what you will not share.”  
“I know.”  
“Then why do you remain?” asked Morrigan, “Why perform a duty without purpose?”

Abelas was silent with despair.  
“There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger,” offered Solas.  
Abelas looked at him a long moment. “Elvhen such as _you_?” he asked.  
Solas stepped toward the Inquisitor. He knew what he said next would hurt her. He wished that it would not.

“Yes, such as I.” He curled his fingers around hers, pressing them gently. Abelas caught the gesture even more than the words. He was silent a long moment, considering her, this strange mortal that he would never know as Solas did, assuming all the wrongs that Solas had.  
“You have shown respect to Mythal. There is a righteousness in you that I cannot deny,” he said to the Inquisitor. Her hand was still tight in Solas’s grasp and he knew the sting wasn’t lessened by Abelas’s words. “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”  
“I never desired any of this. I have no wish to destroy the Well, nor take its power.”  
“And yet,” said Abelas, resting a heavy gauntlet on her shoulder, “You are here. A Sentinel even so.” A sad smile touched his lips. “No boon comes without cost, lethallan,” he added.  
She raised the anchor and it glittered, a star in the reflection of the water. “I know,” she said.  
Abelas nodded. He glanced at Solas, who remained still. “And do you know with whom you walk?” he asked.  
“I do,” she said.  
“That is good. One more thing I will tell you. The Vir’abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. It is no fault of yours. Brave it if you must, but know this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”  
“Bound to the will of a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?” scoffed Morrigan.  
Abelas paled with anger. Solas could feel it pulse from him. But his voice remained calm. “Bound as _we_ are bound. The choice is yours.”

“Does Mythal live? What happened to her?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“Elvhen legend states that she was tricked by Fen’harel and banished to the Beyond,” said Morrigan.  
Abelas’s gaze flicked back to Solas and then quickly away again. “Elvhen legend is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.”  
The Inquisitor’s hand tightened over his. She turned to him as Morrigan let out a startled cry. “Ir abelas,” she whispered.

“She was slain, if a god truly can be. Here, on the steps of her temple,” said Abelas, “betrayed by her own. Yet the Vir’abelasan remains.” He turned back to Solas. “As do we. That is something.”  
“What will you do now?” asked the Inquisitor. “Do you need aid?”  
“No Inquisitor, we will leave the temple. Our duty is fulfilled.”  
“There is a place for you lethallin, if you seek it,” said Solas his fingers twisting to lay the spell.  
“Perhaps there are places the Shemlen have not yet touched,” said Abelas, “Or it may be that only uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, if fate is kind.”  
“You cannot,” said Dorian. “The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history. You might be the last who know the truth.”  
Abelas shook his head. “Would anyone listen to the truth?”  
“They might,” said Dorian, “Would it hurt to try?”  
“Yes,” answered Solas for him.

“I do not know what the few who remain will decide. Perhaps they will try to reach the elves of your time. For myself— I wish to see what remains.”  
“Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas,” said Solas as he turned to go. Abelas inclined his head slightly and then was gone.  
“What was that about?” asked Dorian.  
“His name, Abelas, means ‘sorrow’. I said I hope he finds a new one.”  
“Can we do nothing?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“We can save the world, darling,” said Vivienne, “and make sure their sacrifice has meaning.”

Morrigan turned to look at the well. She waved a hand at the eluvian that sat on the far side. “You’ll note the intact eluvian. I was right about _that_ at least.” She glared at Vivienne. “I believe the Well is the key to it. If we take it, it will be of no use to Corypheus.” She stared at the water. “I did not expect it to feel so— _hungry_.”  
“Power never comes freely,” warned the Inquisitor.  
“I am willing to pay the price the Well commands. I am also the best suited to use the knowledge the Well bestows in your service.”  
“But would it be? In the Inquisition’s service? Or would it be in your own?” asked Vivienne. “Consider, Inquisitor, she has not told us what she means to do with it. She might be worse than Corypheus.”  
Morrigan scowled. “Corypheus is on his way, right _now_ , Inquisitor. Will you paralyze yourself for fear of what might be? I have nothing to give except my word, but that I give to you gladly.”  
“You are too eager. You do not take this to aid the Inquisitor, but for your own ends,” said Solas.  
“What do you know of my ends, elf?” she spat.  
“You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted—”  
“Solas,” said the Inquisitor gently, “Morrigan has done nothing to warrant our fears. Even now, she waits for a decision instead of snatching it away.”  
He subsided, still seething.  
“And if Mythal still lives?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“I am willing to risk that chance. Let me drink.”  
The Inquisitor stepped back. “Very well, Morrigan. It is yours.”  
Vivienne shook her head at Morrigan’s triumphant smile, but remained silent. Morrigan stepped into the pool, kneeling in the water. An enormous wave of power burst from the pool, washing over them and dissolving. When it was gone, the pool was empty except for Morrigan who lay unconscious in the middle.  
“Are you all right?” asked the Inquisitor helping her up. A stream of elvish came from Morrigan for a few seconds until she seemed to gather herself again.  
“I am intact,” she said at last. A dark swirling mist rose at their feet. Dorian jumped back with a cry.

“It will not harm you,” said Solas. “It is the spirits departing. Their duty, too, is over.”  
“I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor.  
“Do not be,” he answered with a smile. “They are free.” His smile faded. “But now the temple is defenseless. Nothing but a few doors stand in Corypheus’s way now.”  
Vivienne spun around. “He’s already here,” she cried, pointing as something dark swooped toward them.  
“The eluvian!” shouted Morrigan, opening it with a gesture.

Dorian grabbed Samson by the collar and sprinted for the mirror. He leapt through and the others followed, tumbling to the stones of Skyhold’s chapel. Solas looked back and saw the eluvian slam shut just as Corypheus reached it.  
“Is everyone well?” The Inquisitor asked, pulling herself up.  
“I think so— but what of our friends? We’ve left them to Corypheus’s wrath at being thwarted,” said Dorian, yanking Samson to his feet.  
“Doubtful,” said Vivienne, brushing off dust. “He was willing to use another as a vessel. It may not be Samson, but there is still a vessel.” She watched Morrigan for a moment. “He won’t be wasting time with our forces, he’ll be heading here. Everything he wants is in this keep. The anchor, the Well and all who have resisted him.”  
“Well, we have a head start at least,” said Dorian as he guided Samson to the courtyard. “His forces are decimated. His general in our keeping. And he is leagues away without an eluvian to aid him.”  
“I should— apologies Inquisitor, I need to sift through all the voices—” muttered Morrigan.  
“Are you all right?” asked the Inquisitor. “Should I find a healer?”  
“No I—”  
“I will be happy to assist Lady Morrigan,” said Vivienne. It was clear that she did not offer out of affection, but Morrigan seemed too scattered to protest.

They were alone. The Inquisitor had turned back to the eluvian, her fingers pressed against the cold glass. He shut the door to the courtyard.  
“The temple was extraordinary,” he said. “I thought it long ruined. I believed I would never stand at that altar again. Especially among those that once knew me.”  
“A thousand years of enduring and we swept in for a few hours and scattered it all. There are times I wonder if the Inquisition does more to destroy than it does to restore.” She watched him in the mirror, her back still toward him.

“When I saw it last, the temple was not a place of sorrow. Mythal’s people did not serve her out of grief, but with joy. She would have been saddened to see what has become of them. The Well is powerful, but it is a dark power. One of vengeance and rage. It is gone because of the Inquisition, but is that an evil? Abelas cannot see it yet, but they are free. Their lives are their own once more.” He stepped up to the mirror, reached out to follow the lines of her vallaslin with his thumb. “A man does not throw off centuries of bondage in one moment, no matter how badly he may wish to. Someday, Abelas may find himself happier than he expects. The Inquisition is not perfect, Vhenan, and sometimes our only choices lead to tragedy. But that does not make them meaningless. What we did today— Mythal did not want her people to suffer. If she could speak to you, she would tell you that she was glad you had freed them from their service.” He dropped away from her. “And in return, you have gained the Well. What will you do with it once Corypheus is dead?”  
“I do not expect Morrigan will remain with the Inquisition once he is gone. I am not blind, Solas. She has her own motives. I must hope that she wishes to do good with it. She may— she may not have the nicety of others, but her actions have so far been kind and decent. I have no real reason to distrust her.”  
He thought for a moment. “You are right. She has not proven false, though her ideas are muddled with legend.”  
The Inquisitor laughed softly. “So are mine,” she said.  
He smiled. “Ah, but you are aware of it,” he answered, “and your tongue tells sweeter stories than hers.”  
She flushed.

“What will you do with the Inquisition then? You have gathered a vast army of followers.”  
“If they choose to stay, there are many people whose call for aid goes unanswered. There are many to free and to feed and to defend. There is work enough to save the world. It will never be done. But it doesn’t always require an army.”  
He clasped his hands behind his back to hide that he was rubbing his knuckles nervously. “And if it goes badly? If you wake up one day and find the future that you shaped is worse than what was?”  
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Then I try again. What is the alternative? Doing nothing will not make things better.” She fell silent a moment, thinking. “You’re only responsible for the inches you are capable of, emma lath, not the miles left to go. You cannot save the world alone. And neither can I. But you _aren’t_ alone. Not anymore.”  
“Thank you,” he said, meaning many things.  
“It is not something you need to thank me for,” she said.

“You might have been so different. I wondered, those days before you woke— would you be cruel? Arrogant? Foolish? I did not dare hope you would be as you are. I am, indeed, grateful for you. I have— come with me, Vhenan.” He swept the eluvian open, Morrigan would be long occupied with the Well. She would never know he had used it. He held out his hand.  
“But Corypheus—”  
“Will be days behind us. We will return before anyone realizes we’ve gone.”  
She put her hand in his and he slid through the mirror.


	71. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NhcjOmngRk

The thaw reached Crestwood long before the peaks of the Frostbacks and the glade was already green with deep moss. The pool was swollen to the brim from the snowmelt tumbling from the mountain. Solas pushed aside the thick curtain of arbor blessing that hid the eluvian and pulled the Inquisitor through. Spring frogs sang to each other, a great chorus now that the wyverns who preyed upon them were gone.

“Here?” asked the Inquisitor. She glanced behind them. “How did I miss the eluvian last time?”  
Solas smiled and twisted one hand. The arbor blessing shimmered and faded under the illusion of solid rock.  
“Ah, I should have guessed,” she said. “I still forget, sometimes, what you claim to be.”  
“I still forget, sometimes, what others expect me to be,” he answered. “I suspect what _you_ believe of me is far too generous, but it is not a myth I wish to dispel. Perhaps, one day, I may be worthy of it.”  
“There is no need to pretend with me.”  
He wondered how long she would sound so certain in that.

“I have something I wish to show you. And— something to ask of you.”  
“Something here? I thought you brought me here because it is quiet. Have you got another temple disguised as a rock?”  
He laughed. “Not a temple. There _is_ something else here, but I would have come here with you regardless. The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling? Wisdom followed you here, when we were apart. It said there was barely any separation at all. That it would be as easy as pushing through a cobweb to join you.”  
“Should I— is there a rift?” she raised her hand.  
“No, there is no danger. No work to be done. There are— places, like this, that are not entirely physical and not entirely Fade. Halfway places, where one side of the Veil leaks a little, into the other.”  
“Isn’t that dangerous?”  
“Only for those who come to them angry or frightened. And even so— it is only a small tear. You made one yourself, in Skyhold, though you did not know it. The spells there protected us from— interference. Here, no spells hold back the spirits, but unless some act of violence occurs, they are not usually drawn to places like these.”  
“So what is in this halfway place? What has brought us to this one?”

He hesitated. It wasn’t easy to peel away centuries of loneliness. No one except Wisdom had known of the place. No agent, no spy, no friend had been brought here. “You asked me some weeks ago what was meant to happen if I should fall before completing my task. You were still recovering from the lyrium. Do you remember?”  
“I remember.”  
“I have been thinking of it ever since. Death— is not something I considered. It was never—” he stopped, rubbing the scar on his forehead. “It is not an inevitable conclusion for someone like me. Not before I had finished my duty.”  
The Inquisitor shook her head and blushed. “You must think me such a fool, then. Wasting so much time fearing it—”  
“That is not what I think. As much as you fear your death, I fear it far more. The idea of living on for centuries without you— my own holds no terror compared to that. And so, I had given it no thought. I know it is the likely outcome of my plans—”  
She opened her lips to protest and he smiled, pressing a hand to her cheek.  
“Yes, Vhenan, I still have hope of finding another path, but I must act on the one that I know is there.”  
“Does this mean you are putting your plans aside? That you will stay?” Her expression was very still, but her voice betrayed her. The hope in it crushed him.

“If only I could. Were it anything less—” he stopped himself, took a long calming breath. “You are unique. In all of Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade as you have. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined. You have told me again and again that you rely upon me, that you value who I am. I fear I have failed to show you all that you have meant to _me_ , to tell you how much I rely upon _you_. You have been my champion, my ally, my friend. My conscience and sanity. I trust no one as I trust you, at times, not even myself. So— I offer you the truth. About my task, about this world, about why I cannot stay. If I should fall before you— there are none who will take up the deed. There are none who know and none will stumble upon it.”  
“You mean to give me the choice?”  
“I mean to arm you against what will come, no matter what may happen to me.”

He led her to the far edge of the pool, slipping behind the trickling falls. He wound his arms around her and turned her to face the dark rock. The last of the evening light flickered purple and green through the water, washing her skin in cold flame. “The password is a sigil traced in veilfire,” he said, guiding her fingers over the shallow grooves in the rock. She called blue flame to her fingertips and repeated the pattern. The rock shifted, sliding away. She stepped slowly into the dark room. Solas flicked a flame into nearby lanterns, illuminating several carved shelves of ancient books.  
The Inquisitor moved farther in, drifting away from him. He resisted the urge to call her back, to seal it away again, protect her. There was no protection from this. Not for any of them. _Come with me_ , he begged silently.  
“What is this place?” she asked, turning to him.  
“This is Wisdom’s library.” A book lay open on the large oak table beside her. It fluttered and he felt his heart pause for just a second. It wasn’t Wisdom. He knew it couldn’t be. But his heart was unconvinced. He let the rock slide shut behind them and tried to persuade himself it had just been a breeze.  
“But it— was a spirit. It had no physical form.”  
Solas smiled. “It did once, when it chose to. Before the Veil. And I helped it collect these.” He ran a finger down the spine of a clothbound book. “I came here when I woke, looking for Wisdom. But Crestwood was too dangerous. It was not here. Still, it proved a good place to regain my strength and to plan.”  
“Plan for _what_? What happened to wake you after a thousand years? What happened to send you to sleep? What _is_ this place?”

He moved to light a fire in the hearth. “I have to tell you a story now—”  
“Solas—”  
“Not a parable,” he amended, twisting to look at her. She came to sit beside him on the cold stone. “You asked me, once, to tell you the real story of Mythal. I did not tell you then because I could not yet tell you of my own story, and it is inextricably linked.” The tinder caught and her blood writing jumped and shifted in the moving light. His fingers glided over the same lines the guide had. Her eyes closed at his touch.

“Mythal did not come from the sea. She did not move Elgar’nan to retrieve the sun. She was a general in a great war. The mother of a great dynasty. She was a Dreamer, like me. She was terrifically powerful and had been for centuries before my birth. They were called the Evanuris, the people that you once believed were gods. In truth, they were as mortal as you or I. But they collected spells, techniques, artifacts— anything to extend their power. That power led others to worship them as gods. And after centuries of worship, the Evanuris fell for the lie themselves. They took slaves. Believed they were entitled to anyone or anything they wished. Once every hundred years or so, another Dreamer would be born. Sometimes, a Dreamer would challenge the Evanuris. They’d be crushed or banished. That is how the Forgotten Ones were born. They made war on Arlathan, trying to tear down the Evanuris, mostly seeking to take their place. And the Evanuris took more slaves, sought more power to overcome those they’d banished. This was the world I was born into.”  
“Then— you are a Forgotten One? Oh, Solas, I am sorry that I made light—”  
“No, I am not, though I might have been,” he said, catching the hand she reached out to him. “I was fortunate. I was born belonging to Mythal.”  
“You were her slave? I thought you said she was your friend.”  
“She was, in the end. She might have banished me. Or killed me. But Wisdom found out what I was first. And it helped me hide my power. Mythal freed me after I performed a great service for her. She aided me in helping others, and freed her own people after me. Hid me from the other Evanuris for a time until I was powerful enough to evade them on my own. The war between the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris raged on, and my own activities were mostly ignored. Insignificant to them. If I had done more, if I had acted faster, perhaps—”  
“There were thousands of names— I _saw_ them. So many people had you to thank for their freedom.” She touched his knee.  
“So many more will have me to thank for their destruction,” he answered. “Our fall was already happening. It happened when I was very young. A soldier in Mythal’s army.”

He stood up and crossed to the shelves. She watched him hunt for the familiar book. “I do not know the real reason that Andruil wandered into the titan, nor the bargain she made with the Children of Stone, but the result I saw for myself.” His fingers closed around the scarlet book and he brought it back to her. He had studied it for so long that it fell open on the portrait of Andruil without him having to find it. She stared at it, her hands gripping the way his had, her eyes fixed upon the ruby spear. “She returned with a spear of red crystal and armor of the same.”  
“Was it red lyrium?”  
He nodded. “It sang. I heard it myself. Andruil became— strange. And her people and lands sickened. You saw the memory of her land yourself.”  
“This is what the Tevinters dug up? This is what lay beneath the seal?”  
He sat beside her again, touching the page, feeling the warmth her fingers had left behind on the paper. “It is. Mythal’s forces killed the titan it had come from. She hid the spear and the armor with it and buried it under Andruil’s land so it would not infect anything else.”  
“Did Andruil die?”  
“No. And therein lies my hope for you.”  
“For _me_?”  
He sighed. “We will come to it. The whole story is here, in this place. Andruil slowly retreated from her madness after the lyrium was taken away. It was how I knew what you needed…” he trailed off, tracing the edge of her ear, as if the red lyrium’s melody had ever been inside it. “She was cruel and arrogant. But for teaching me how to help you, at least, I am grateful for her. Mythal, alone, knew where the spear and armor were buried. And for a few centuries, even their existence seemed forgotten. I built the place that would become Skyhold. I freed those that I could, helped those that came to me, and left Arlathan behind. Wisdom and I studied the sickness that had infected Andruil’s people. We tried to cleanse it, but ultimately, we ran out of time. The war turned and the Evanuris were desperate. They sought anything that promised more power against the Forgotten Ones. Any rumor, any invention, they tried. Andruil told them of the spear. And the Evanuris went to Mythal and demanded she bring them to it. When she would not surrender to them, they tortured her. Tortured her people. I was not with her when they killed her. But Wisdom was. It had gone to seek her advice. It brought me news of her death. She never broke.”

The Inquisitor shook her head. “ _Why_? If it could save her people, why didn’t she tell them? Let them destroy themselves.”  
“Because it spread the Blight, Vhenan. It wasn’t a punishment for entering the seat of the Maker. It was a weapon the Tevinters dug out of our ruins. And if the Evanuris found it, they would not have stopped. You felt it, you felt the power the red lyrium offered. It would have intoxicated them while the corruption spread over their lands and throughout our people. Mythal _did_ save her people. Or, she tried. It was I who failed them.”  
“You said you weren’t even there. How could any of this be your doing?”  
“After her death, the Evanuris were enraged and frustrated. Andruil led them to believe that I knew where the spear had been hidden. Wisdom came to warn me. My tower was far removed from the Arbor Wilds and even more inaccessible then, but I knew I could not hold them off forever.”  
“That is why you sent your people away.” She closed the book carefully, deep in thought. “But you survived— how did you survive? I cannot believe even _you_ could defeat them all.”  
“I did not. I let them believe I knew where the spear was. My people helped set a trap for them. An eluvian tainted with the Blight. It led to a chamber filled with red lyrium. I don’t know if it was the titan or if it had spread beyond the beast’s body. I brought them to it and their lust for power blinded them. They walked through and I shut it. I knew it would not hold them for long. I had no choice. I had to rip them from the Fade.”  
“You made them tranquil?” she gasped.  
“Oh, my love, if only I had known how to. I made the entire world tranquil. I created the Veil to hold them, to keep them from ever rising again. To keep others from stepping into their place.”  
“ _You_ made the Veil?”  
“I did. I had to, it was the only way to stop them from spreading the Blight to every corner of the world. But the effects— it was like losing your hearing or your sight, to be suddenly cut off from the Fade that way. Cities crumbled without magic to hold them together. There were no more immortals born. The spirits were closed off entirely from this realm, old friends utterly lost. And the gods were gone. There was no one left to lead the people. No one left to protect them.”  
“You were left,” she said, and he felt again the sting behind it.  
“I was. But I would not step into the space the Evanuris and Forgotten Ones had stood. I would not be the new slave master. I went to sleep. I gave them their freedom, such as it was. It was all that I could do.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “The slow arrow,” she said suddenly.  
“That story is false.”  
“It isn’t, I just never understood it until now.”  
He sighed and leaned back against the leg of the table. “You cannot truly think me so cold as that story paints me. There was no village—”  
She grabbed his hand, excited. “There _was_ , don’t you see? Elvhenan was the village. You could not save it, but your Veil was the arrow. Your Veil saved Elvhenan’s children. It’s not meant for _you_. None of the stories are. They are meant for the people left behind. To explain the world. And the Fade. That’s why they paint the Maker as silent, because there was no one left to answer them—”  
“I am _not_ the Maker,” he said sternly.  
“Actually— if you made the Veil, then you are. And Cassandra would run you through if she knew.”  
“This is not a jest,” he said. He wanted to become angry, but the solemnity of her face made him soften.  
“No,” she said, “it is not a jest. But it was also not a mistake.”  
“How can you say that? It was the most dire mistake of my life.”  
“You see only the sadness in your actions. But there is _more_. History has altered your image and changed what you did. You’ve forgotten why you did it. You’ve forgotten the good you’ve done.”  
He shook his head and felt a bitter scowl twist his face. “A thousand years of war and servitude and cruelty. That’s what I’ve done.”

She pulled his chin toward her, meeting his eyes. “No, Solas. That is what _we_ have done. You saved us. It is not your fault that we squandered the time you gave us. You say that life without the Fade is akin to losing a sense. It is still life. It still has its joys and its loves and its dreams. It is still worth preserving.”  
“There are few of my kin who would think so. Mythal’s people dream their time away. And when they wake, they hope only to return to slumber again. To reconnect with the Fade.”  
She smiled. “So did you, once. But you found something worth having beyond the Fade. Or have you changed your mind?”  
“No, Vhenan,” he said quickly.  
“Then it is time to move on from your grief. The people you mourn are at peace. It is time to let go. We’re here. We’re alive and I have hope we can change what is wrong. Except for you, we might all be darkspawn—”  
He shuddered and stopped her with a kiss. “Don’t say that,” he said as they parted. “I don’t wish to picture you so.”

A brief look of confusion crossed her face, but she let it pass. “Then let us speak of other things for a while. Tell me of this place. Show me something of a happier time, something of the way you were then.”  
He smiled. “Life in hiding didn’t lend itself to sitting for portraits.”  
She laughed. “Neither does life in battle, but somehow I have seen some terrible ones of myself on more than one occasion.”  
“Very well,” he said, pulling the scarlet book from her side. He paged gently to the back, trying not to crack the thin pages.

There it was, the very last of the pantheon, a simplistic painting of himself. It was not a true likeness, not even then, full of symbol but void of _him_. A figure in wolfskin taking the vallaslin from the face of a slave. The Inquisitor bent over it, studying it in the low light. She touched the slave’s face, and for a moment he wondered if she had mistaken it for him. But then she ran a hand over her own face.  
“What are you doing to this man?” she asked looking up at him.  
“Setting him free. Taking the vallaslin from him to leave him unmarked and unclaimed.” He watched her, holding his breath. She rubbed her cheek again. “They were slave markings, my love. They claimed people for the Evanuris, marked them as belonging to them. To be used for work, for pleasure, for sacrifice. After Arlathan fell— the Dalish forgot. Or perhaps they kept them to defy the Imperium. To set themselves apart, or to cling to all that was left of their home. Even the awful parts.”

She closed the book again. “A vast culture of magic and art and stories— and _this_ is what we’ve kept? The broken shackles?”  
He caressed her cheek. “I did not mean to hurt you. If you like, I still know the spell to remove them.”  
“Did you have them?”  
“Once, long ago.”  
“All this time and you never said— It must be so _ugly_ to you.”  
“No! No, that is not what I see when I look at you. I only— you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.”  
She was silent. He thought she meant to let it lie, but when she spoke, it was firm and clear. “Yes,” she said, “cast your spell.”  
It had been so long. He wondered if he still knew how, but then his magic remembered for him, his hands moving in the old pattern without thought. And she was clean. The cage of ink that hid her from him, gone. He stared at her a second too long, his breath catching in his throat as if his love for her were a new thing, a shy and uncertain thing. She opened her eyes.

“Ar lasa mala revas. You are free.”  
She touched her skin, flushed. “Why do you stare?” she asked, “Is it terrible?”  
“No,” he laughed, “You are beautiful. But then, you always have been.”  
“Sweet talker,” she said, but kissed him anyway.


	72. Flood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPH7LXPZFBo&index=52&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“What made you wake?” she asked, prodding a fallen log farther into the hearth.  
“The war.”  
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “There must have been hundreds of wars since the Veil and yet you continued to sleep through them all. Why this one?”

He pressed his lips tightly together, but the bitterness would not be held back. “You think I have been idle. That all this time I have lived in fantasy and ease. Were you any other, I would leave it. I have done so many things that deserve censure— but what you imagine of me, I have not earned. I watched this world, yes, let it play before me like a pageant. I have seen your wars and your heroes and villains, loves and losses. And longed for them all. They could not touch me, that _is_ true. But I did touch them, in my way.”

She turned to him and he crept closer to her. “Do you know how many people pray in their sleep? For counsel, for aid, for justice— I found as many as I could. Midwives napping during a difficult birth who asked Sylaise to guide their hands. Keepers who faced a difficult decision and wished for Dirthamen to advise them. Warriors on the eve of battle who begged Elgar’nan to give them courage. Wronged slaves who prayed to Mythal for justice. Where I could help from the Fade, I tried. I would not accept worship in the place of the false gods, but I could not abandon the people. I couldn’t let them think they were alone.”

Her face was so much easier to read without the vallaslin. Love and sorrow so clear now, like the sun suddenly shining through a pane of glass. She touched his knee beside her, but was silent, waiting.  
“In the name of Falon’din, I walked with the dead as far as I could to ease their fears. And I studied months and years to aid craftsmen in their inventions, connecting great minds to complete their ideas. They gave thanks to June. Showed lost children the way back to their clans as they slept, lost in the Brecilian Forest. They believed I was Ghilan’nain’s halla.”  
“And for yourself?” she asked. He sighed and folded her hand in his.

  
“They do not call me the Bringer of Nightmares without reason, Vhenan. Some warnings are not heeded until the terror is made real. I harried our foes where I could. Meted out justice in the night to those who were untouchable otherwise. Warned those I would save against coming danger. Or tried, at least. That is what I did in my own name. No one ever sought me out. Not until you did, the night we returned from the Mire.”  
“Forgive me, I’ve spoken without thought. So many times. So many things I’ve gotten wrong about you— about the others.”  
He shook his head. “How were you to know? I do not regret doing these things. Not even doing them in another’s name. But— I wish to be seen, for once, as I truly am, for good or ill.”  
She pressed her hand to his cheek. “I am trying. If you wish me to see, then you must _show_ me,” she said.  
“I know,” he answered, “I too, am trying.” He fell silent a moment. “I woke this time because the war was tearing the entirety of Thedas asunder. For centuries I had let it be. I thought it was too far, that I would overstep if I meddled more. That you had to be allowed to come to terms with the Veil and what it meant for yourselves. But then Wisdom told me it was failing. That Mythal had tried to intervene, but the damage was too great, even for her—”  
“Mythal? But she died a thousand years ago.”  
“She did. But the first of my people are not so easily defeated.”  
“Is she— Is Corypheus—”  
“No. He is something— different. I would have known what to do if he were like us. Mythal— I need to speak with her.” He felt warmth creeping into his face. “More than just shouting on a bridge,” he admitted.  
“You woke to aid her and have not spoken with her? How did you intend to help?”

  
He paused. _Don’t turn on me_ , he willed her. “The Veil is collapsing. It has been for ages, even before the Breach. Since I created it, in fact. It is imperfect, tearing wherever powerful magic or emotion is experienced, fading and leaking in spots.”  
“So you meant to recreate the spell? Create another?”  
“No, my love. I am not capable of recreating it. There were hundreds of others who aided me in creating it. And even if it were possible, should I cut us off from the Fade again? Perhaps worse than before? It would not change how people view it or how people treat mages. It would not stop more tears from occurring. I meant to dissolve it. Take it down. Undo my mistake.” He traced her fingers with his, pulling at her with his own magic. “Return you to your true self.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion and he marveled at how new the familiar expression sat upon her naked skin. “Then is it the other Evanuris you fear? We will find a way to deal with them, Solas. It should not cause you such fear. You have Mythal to aid you, and the Inquisition will—”  
He shook his head. “I had plans for them. Already an army gathers to hold them. And more will come, in time. They are not what I fear. The Veil— it had a result I did not expect. A benefit that I did not predict. I was unaware, when I first woke, of what would happen should it fall.”  
“But we’ve _been_ in the Fade. It was not so terrible. Even Sera and Hawke were unharmed— I don’t understand what makes you despair.”  
“Yes, it was much more destructive being created than it ought to have been when removed. But something else was caught behind it, besides the Fade. The Veil was never intended to hold back the Blight. And yet, it did, for a time. Until Corypheus and his brethren ripped the Veil in Arlathan to tatters and unsealed it.” His face curled into a hateful snarl. “It was loose after that. Wisdom didn’t discover the intrusion for some time. When it did, it hid Arlathan away and did what it could to repair the damage. But it was too late. The Blight clung to the Imperium. Clumsy attempts were made to beat it back again. But the Wardens could not banish it for good. It was spreading, behind the Veil. Multiplying in the Titan, encouraged by the others that I’d locked away. The Forgotten Ones. The Tevinters showed them their chance in the openings made in the Veil. They sought out other weaknesses, sent legions of darkspawn forth under their command. They used the red lyrium as Corypheus does, to extend their power, to guard their immortality and return and return as archdemons.”  
“But they’ve been defeated each time—”

He felt the low whine of helplessness in his throat even before she heard it. “No, my love, they were only pushed back. Only biding their time. They spill forth once an age to test the Veil. To find its fragile points. It will not withstand another. Not even if I allowed it to fall naturally.” He pressed against her, seeking her arms, her solid reality. “The Blight is a vast sea under Thedas. And when the Veil falls, it will flood all the world and drown it,” he broke into a shaky sob. “I cannot stop it. I cannot change it.”

She was very still a moment around him. He began to hope she was calmer than he, that she’d already suspected. Found some way out of this terrible darkness. But her hands began shaking on his back and spread, a deep unending shudder. He pulled back to see her. She gave him a lopsided smile.  
“You’re touched, fanor,” she said.  
He shook his head.  
“Yes. Don’t fear. My Keeper has cured many with madness. All will be well—”  
“If only I were.”  
“You _are_ , Solas, you must be. Fen’harel and dead gods and Blight infecting all the world— it is a bad dream, nothing more.” She brushed his face, as if she were soothing a small child. “We’ll go home. It’s the coming battle, I know it is. It will be over soon and the strain will lessen. You’ll recover and we’ll—”  
“Come with me,” he said. “When this is done, come with me. If I’m mad, what will it matter? If I am not what I’ve claimed, then no one will be harmed. The Veil will remain and all will be as it should. And if not— I cannot think of you here, suffering.”  
“We should—” she looked around them as if she’d forgotten where they were. She was still shaking and he knew some part of her understood. “We should talk to Dorian. He’ll know what to—”

He considered allowing it to stay, this lie that she shielded herself with. Told himself it would do no good, convincing her of what would come. It was what he would have done only a few weeks before. But he’d brought her to this place to prepare her. She would not join him, every time he asked he’d known before the words left his tongue that she’d refuse. He could not leave her helpless. So he pulled the anchor toward his chest even as she looked for someone to heal him. He pressed it against himself and _pushed_. It flared under his magic and sliced open the boundary to the Fade. She gasped and tried to pull back but he gripped her wrist.

“Ir abelas, Vhenan. There is no other way to show you.” He painted the memory on the air in veilfire unmuted by the Veil and watched the soft blue glow fill her eyes as she fell into it. He had not seen it until after he’d woken. If Wisdom had known— would it have turned elsewhere for aid? He had seen it as he recovered here, the great chasm of bonfires scattered beneath the earth. Far below even the deep roads. He’d followed the dream for long weeks, waiting for Wisdom to find him. All the time discovering the world in worse and worse peril. And when he’d shown it to the spirit— he shut off the thought. He did not enjoy remembering the bitter argument that had parted them before the Breach. The veilfire still burned in the Inquisitor’s eyes, even as they streamed with tears. She was not seeing _him_. Only the Blight. Only the unending tidal wave of darkspawn and the haunting, maddening melody of the red lyrium. A sob tore from her and he held her tighter, though he knew she did not feel it, not in the memory. It helped him even if it could not affect her.

The magic faded at last, from shine to ember and then spark. Until she was herself again, staring at him. He was unsure if she realized the memory had ended. And then she shoved him away. He let go and she tumbled to the floor and scrambled farther from him, hunched and frightened. “Why?” she asked, “Why would you take it down when all this— _ruin_ waits behind it?”  
He reached a hand out toward her, but she flinched and he let it drop into his lap. “At first— I thought I might change it. That I could halt the spread. I— there is a method, not to cure it, but to delay the Blight’s effects. Better than the Grey Warden’s methods, without the other effects.”

She loosened a little, curiosity gradually winning out over her horror. “Why didn’t you _tell_ anyone? Why hide it away—”  
“I was uncertain whether it would work. I don’t know how it will affect Shemlen. Cole has given me hope— but I cannot knowingly expose someone to the Blight in order to test it. And I don’t know how it will affect modern elves. Ir abelas, Vhenan, I cannot pretend there are no differences between us. Though I wish to.” He rose, slowly. She backed away, even so, and her fear clawed at his heart. “And then— and then there was Redcliffe. And another way. The amulet you took from Alexius— it was a chance beyond my imaginings. Some hope for restoration. I can save our people, but it comes at a cost.”  
She shook her head. “Such a cost.”  
“Yes,” he agreed, “More terrible with each passing breath. If there were any other way, I would not hesitate. But the amulet’s spell will not work without access to the Fade. The centuries I must travel are too great even for the power available through something like the Breach. Once the Veil has fallen, I may return and alter our path. Before Andruil ever finds the lyrium. Perhaps before the Titan is even infected. But it means _this_ world must die.”  
“Always playing for time,” she muttered.  
“What else would you have me do?” he asked.

She thought for a moment, watching him. He was still, wishing she would close the gap between them, willing the fear to melt away, her anger to soften. “I cannot save the world from this,” she said at last, her voice a broken, crumpled thing.  
“No,” he said, choking on grief. “Nor I.”  
“How long?” she asked.  
He shook his head. “I am uncertain. A few years. A decade, perhaps, if you continue to close rifts and strengthen the Veil.”  
“Leaks in the dam,” she said.  
“Yes. They multiply too quickly now. It will not last, even so. And the mark—”  
“I know.” She looked down at it, tilting her palm, watching the spread of the light. “You won’t— it is I who must play for time now. Did you mean to tear it down as soon as we recovered the orb? Should I recall the Wardens?”  
“What is the kinder way?” he asked. “I don’t trust my own judgment in this. I thought a swifter end—”  
“No!” she cried and did dart toward him. “Give me time to find a solution—”  
“Time to agonize and grieve and be ground under the weight of terror and impotence?”  
“Yes, if that is what must be. And time to hope and think and build an army to push it back or a cure to dissolve it. And if not— to bid farewell and _love_.” She brushed her fingertips over the center of his chest. He leaned forward and kissed the damp skin of her face, tasting salt and sorrow. She didn’t pull away. “Give me that much.”  
“Come with me. Be near me at the end,” he said.  
“I have my own world to save. Come back, Solas, return to _me_ at the end. This is the world you belong to.”

He tipped his forehead to hers. That she no longer asked him to stay spoke louder than everything. Her acceptance of it crushed him. “You cannot save it. It will mean your death and nothing will change.”  
“There are some things worth doing, even knowing I will fail. Even knowing they will end.” She brushed a thumb over his lips.  
“Stay in Skyhold. It will stand longer than anywhere else. It will give you time.” He flicked his hand and the stone statue at the end of the library rumbled and moved aside. He turned toward it, pulling her after him. A vial of dark liquid sat in the hollow and a copy of the notes he and Wisdom had made. He pressed the vial into her hand. “It will delay the Blight. Vivienne has the research. And the Hero of Ferelden should be receiving a copy any day. I will wait until the final breath, Vhenan, but it will come at last.”

Her fingers closed around the glass. “And if I refuse to let you take the orb? Would you strike me down?”  
He watched her a long moment, but there was no real threat in her face, not even true fear. Just longing and sadness. “The woman who could do that would not have returned from Redcliffe. She would cling too hard to false hopes and futile power. You are not her. You know, now, what comes, regardless of the orb. And I could never hurt you. Not like that.”  
“And if I asked you to? If I find I cannot do this and asked you to end this before you went, to give me that swift end you think so kind?”  
“Don’t ask,” he whispered, turning his face away. She grasped his chin and brought him back.  
“If I asked?”  
“Yes. Even this, I would do for you,” he said, the breath a burning stutter in his chest.

She twisted the vial in her hand, staring at it. He wondered if she meant to dash it to the ground. “Do you think the Fade crosses between worlds? You say it is vast. Could it connect us again?” she asked instead.  
“I don’t know. But whatever is left of me will search for you there. I will find you, even if it is only in that other time.”  
The Inquisitor’s mouth crooked into a bitter smile. “She is a fortunate woman then, this other me.” The smile dropped away and she looked up at him. “And I _hate_ her.” Her fist shook around the glass and sparks sizzled on her nails.

“Shh,” he urged, pulling her fingers gently open again. He put the vial back into the hollow and pressed cool fingers over her temples, to the back of her neck. “She does not have me yet.” He drew her into a soft kiss, trying to soothe her.  
“If I find a way to stop the Blight, to save _this_ world— will you stay? Even if it meant the Veil must remain? Would you trade the memory of your people for the living around you?” she asked when they parted.  
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. He would not tell her how often he’d wavered even without hope. How many times he’d wanted to let the world wither if it meant she was beside him at the end.  
“Then—” she gripped the ancient wolf jaw between them, “This is _my_ oath. She will never have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard. More soon, but I needed to be through this chapter to give myself some space for the next part. Someone recommend some sweetness to read, I need it.


	73. Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEtkIRlz7Vw

“Tetragonal structure. It’s not like the normal lyrium,” said Dagna, peering through the glass.  
“Do you think that could be changing the tonal quality? Why it ‘sings’ differently?” asked Dorian.  
“Possible,” she answered, “We can run some tests.”  
“Solas, would you stop pacing for two minutes together?”  
“I apologize,” he said and came to an uneasy rest beside the table. Dorian glanced up at him.

  
“She’ll be back any minute, I’m certain. The boy can’t have gone far. We’ve already combed the grounds between us.”  
“I should have gone with her.”  
“I don’t know, Morrigan’s downright scary when she wants to be,” said Dagna. “Always has been. Wouldn’t want to cross her if I were you.”  
“Besides, if she’s through the eluvian, then at least she’s safe from Corypheus, right? If he’d found one we’d be dust by now,” added Dorian.  
“There are worse dangers than Corypheus,” said Solas. They both stared at him. But Cassandra burst into the Undercroft before either of them could question him.

“War room,” she barked. “The Inquisitor’s back. Morrigan says they have a plan.”  
“Ha! What did I say?” Dorian clapped his shoulder.  
“A plan?” asked Solas, “I thought they were looking for Kieran.”  
Cassandra frowned. “I don’t know what happened, but the boy is safe. I am not certain about the Inquisitor, though. She seems— shaken.”  
He followed her across the Keep and into the War room.

“I know how to defeat his dragon,” Morrigan was saying. “As for matching Corypheus, that is up to you, Inquisitor.”  
“Yes,” the Inquisitor answered. “I know.”

The others broke into a low chatter of planning. Solas pulled her aside. “Are you well?” he asked.  
“I saw her,” she said, still half-mesmerized. “I spoke to Mythal. In the Crossroads, she had brought Kieran. She was not— she is not as I expected.” She laughed but it was sad and low. She shook her head. “She did not— there was no mention of anything besides Corypheus. The aid she offers against him— it changes nothing else.”  
“I didn’t expect it to, my love,” he answered.  
“I _did_.”  
He brushed her cheek with his hand. “I am glad you still have hope. And sorry when it is crushed. I will find her once Corypheus is dealt with. Perhaps she—”

She cried out and clutched at her hand as the mark flared. The room was awash in green flame, not all of it from her and the others turned toward the window. “It is almost done, my love,” he said quietly, pulling her hand into his own. He traced the cracks of the anchor with a cooling spell. “Let us finish it and end this poison.”  
“The Breach has reopened,” called Cassandra, pointing to the window.

“Then we must return to Haven,” said the Inquisitor, recovering and straightening, though he could feel the mark bursting from her skin in thrumming pulses. He tried not to imagine the pain it was causing her.  
Cullen shook his head. “I have no forces to send, they are still on the road from the Arbor Wilds.”  
“I know,” she said. “Perhaps it is best this way. The soldiers cannot seal the Breach. They can only fall. They will be needed here when they return.”  
“When _we_ return,” said Cassandra.  
“I— yes, of course,” said the Inquisitor. “Skyhold must stand until then. Iron Bull, can the Chargers do it?”  
“Sure, Boss, but—”  
She shook her head to cut him off. “Dorian, we will need to activate the wards—” she touched Solas’s shoulder. “Will you show him? Below?”  
He hesitated. “Tel’vara,” he said.  
“Not without you.”

He moved away. She had already turned to Vivienne to organize the mages. He tugged Dorian’s arm and led him to the ancient library. “She can’t really mean to leave me behind,” protested Dorian.  
“She means for you to save them if we fail,” he said, pressing the latch at the side of a shelf. “Third row, left. Remember.”  
“Yes, of course,” Dorian said absently. Anyone else, Solas would have forced to repeat the instruction. But Dorian was listening, even distracted as he was.  
“It isn’t shameful,” he answered, flicking a ball of veilfire into a nearby torch and ducking into the dark tunnel. “She trusts you to act in her stead. It is not a small thing.”  
“Then why not ask _you_ to do it?”  
He tried to clear the tightness in his throat. “I would not have agreed, if she asked. I suspect she knew that. And— I think she meant it as a kindness for all of us. If this ends badly, then you will be with Bull. And I will be with her.”

Dorian hurried down the tunnel behind him. “What am _I_ meant to do if she falls?”  
“Remember that Corypheus is mortal. And remind others. Protect them until the time comes that another can challenge him.” He fell silent a moment and then stopped and turned to Dorian. “The stories we tell, the things we remember— they make us believe that the side of the righteous and the good always win. That evil is always beaten back. Real war— is not what it appears. But there are battles that are worth fighting, even as you know you will be crushed. We may fail. Corypheus may reign for a time, and it will be terrible. But he is not a god, as much as he wishes he were. And if the worst comes to pass, still it is not the end. Another will come along, in time. Perhaps many others. They always do. Even in the very darkest times good people exist. I know. I’ve found them. And someday, someone will succeed in defeating him. This place— _you_ , Dorian, must stand until they arrive.”  
Dorian shivered. “Maker’s breath, Solas, don’t fail.”  
“I don’t intend to. But if we do— I will be at peace knowing it is you who remains to fight.”  
“Won’t bring _me_ any,” Dorian muttered. The stones around them shook and he flinched. “We’re running out of time.” He gave Solas a gentle push forward.

When they emerged from the veilfire chamber again, Vivienne was issuing hasty orders to the mages and Iron Bull was already on the battlements surveying the distant emerald fire that blazed over the horizon. Dorian squeezed the Inquisitor’s hand. “Don’t forget your barrier, sorora, I will not be there to remind you,” he said. She leaned down on the horse to embrace him.  
“I have not forgotten my shield, fratera, I leave him here to guard my people,” she said. “If the Breach does not close, bring them back to the Veilfire room. Don’t let Bull and the Chargers waste themselves on the Keep. And— and take your research with you, you will need it.” Dorian looked over at him, confused, but Solas shook his head, putting it off for later. If they did not survive, there would be no pushing back the Blight. It did no good to alarm him.

Solas leapt up onto his waiting horse beside the Inquisitor and they sped off. For all his caution, he did not suspect that he would not see the three of them again. What might he have said to them, had he known? What might he have asked of them for the Inquisitor’s sake?

The journey to Skyhold had taken several days on foot. But the return was much faster. The deep winter snow was lessening as they descended the mountains, spring already creeping up its side. They had no refugees to care for and linger over and the horses were swift. Even so, the sun had already sunk by the time they reached the valley. Dozens of frightened settlers had gathered near the ruins of Haven, seeking some aid. The Inquisitor stopped when she saw them. She glanced back at the others, barely visible in the dusk.

“Yes,” said Cole suddenly, appearing beside her. “I can do that.” He turned to Sera. “They need help. A quick way, a secret way, back up the mountain.”  
Sera slid from her horse. “Why me? Why not Varric?” she asked.  
“Bianca needs the workout,” called Varric.  
“Be safe, Sera,” was all the Inquisitor said.  
Sera reached a hand up to hers. “Come back, Buckles,” she said. The Inquisitor nodded. Sera and Cole melted into the crowd. The Inquisitor pressed her heel to her horse’s flank and they moved on.

“This is as it should be,” she said after a few moments of silence. “Ending as it began.”  
“It’s only poetic if we survive to tell it,” said Varric.  
“You will,” said the Inquisitor.  
“ _We_ will,” said Varric. “Tragedies don’t sell. And my publisher is scarier than Corypheus.”  
She let out a shaky laugh. Solas was glad to hear it, even weak as it was.

Cassandra was praying, the words a staccato whisper on Solas’s right side. He wished something was there to hear it. For her sake.  
"You who stand before the gates, you who have followed me into the heart of evil, the fear of death is in your eyes; its  
hand is upon your throat. Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: not alone do we stand on the field of battle,” he said calmly, Cassandra stuttering to a stop to listen.  
“I didn’t know you knew the Chant, Solas,” she said.  
“I have heard it many times. That verse, particularly, is comforting, regardless of belief.”

The Inquisitor’s horse shied as stones beside the path rose into the air.  
Varric swore under his breath. A dense hum of magic threaded through the air. The Inquisitor hissed through her teeth as the anchor brightened, a burning star in the palm of her hand. Solas leapt down and ran to help her.  
“Tell me, where is your Maker now?” Corypheus’s voice rumbled against the rocks, rolling over the entire valley. Cassandra shuddered and her sword scraped out of its scabbard. “Call Him. Call down His wrath upon me.”  
“It is coming, demon,” muttered the Seeker.  
“I’m well,” said the Inquisitor, pushing his hand gently from hers.  
“You aren’t,” he answered.  
“It is only a fleeting pain. A few more moments and it will be gone, for good. Save your strength— I will need you.”

He pulled his staff from his horse’s saddle. Varric swatted his pony and it took off, back toward home. The others followed.  
Corypheus’s laugh shook the valley. The Inquisitor shuddered. “You cannot, for He does not exist,” came the heavy voice, “I am Corypheus. _I_ shall deliver you from this lie in which you linger. Bow before your new god and be spared!”  
“Maker’s breath, he eats a little rotten lyrium and practices some lopsided necromancy on a dragon and he thinks he’s a god. He’s madder than Meredith was,” said Varric. He checked Bianca and looked up at the Inquisitor. “Tired of this shit, Inquisitor. Let’s get it done.”  
She nodded.

They wove through the ruins of the temple, more of it slowly rising into the air. A large shockwave pulsed past them and they heard cries from ahead. Harding’s scouts were battling a score of fear demons when they reached the inner temple, Corypheus standing placidly by, Solas’s orb spinning in his palm. She cried out at the sight of it and Corypheus saw her. His laugh rasped and slithered around them, malice made sound. “I knew you would come,” he said, offering them a mock bow. Solas finished off a demon with the end of his staff.

“It ends here, Corypheus,” said the Inquisitor. She stood tall and still, her voice clear. But he could feel her pulling at him, an urgent tug beneath the skin. He slammed the butt of the staff to the ground. _Still here, Vhenan,_ he thought.  
“And so it shall.” The magic Corypheus gathered was like a building storm between them. Even Harding’s scouts felt it, backing quickly away. The earth beneath his feet shook and rose, the edges crumbling away in a heavy rain of soil and rock. A few islands of cinder and stone hung high above Thedas. High enough that Solas could make out the glimmer of Skyhold beyond the peaks of the mountains. No escape.

“You have been successful in foiling most of my plans,” said Corypheus as the trembling beneath them stopped. “But let us not forget what you are. A thief. In the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat.”  
“Then we are the same, you and I,” said the Inquisitor. “The orb is not yours. It never was. And you are much smaller than you know. Turn _back_ , Corypheus. Or you would be the god of a dead world. The master of nothing.”  
Cassandra looked over at her, startled. “What?” she asked.

“You cannot save someone who does not wish it, Vhenan,” he warned. “He does not dread the Blight. He has been a creature of it for centuries.”  
“And who, instead should take my place? _You_?” sneered Corypheus, “We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”  
“Neither of us, Corypheus. You are not the first to pretend. And not the first to fall. Turn back, before it is too late.”  
A shriek tore the air overhead. The dragon was loose. “C’mon Morrigan,” murmured Varric.  
“She’ll be here,” whispered Solas. As if in answer, a deep roar shook the ruins and the heavy thrum of large wings passed overhead.

“You dare?” asked Corypheus backing up a step. The Inquisitor’s barrier rippled up around them, Cassandra already charging toward the enormous magister. Corypheus easily fade-stepped away, his laugh echoing over the stones. “A dragon. How clever of you. It will avail you nothing. You will fall as a warning to those who oppose my divine will.”  
“Divine _ass_ , maybe,” muttered Varric, a bolt already leaving his crossbow as he circled to higher ground behind Solas.  
“Sera would be proud,” said Solas feeling the satisfying thud as his spell connected, freezing Corypheus’s twisted flesh.  
“Kind of busy, Chuckles,” shouted Varric, “Leaving the witty stuff to you.” Another bolt streaked by. Cassandra had connected now, her blade chipping away at the bone and crystal that somehow held the creature together. The Inquisitor’s lightning arced and leapt, branching and bunching as it crept toward Corypheus. She was drawing from the Breach, he could tell, even without looking at the mark, her own magic a warm flood pushing back the magister’s own.

“I will not stand for this outrage!” shouted Corypheus and a wall of red lyrium pierced the earth around him. The Inquisitor’s spell broke off abruptly and she clutched her head with a cry. Solas felt it too, the agonizing hum of the crystals. He clenched his teeth together hard enough that he feared they might break and turned his spell from their enemy to the red poison. They shattered, piece by piece and she recovered, shaking her head. Cassandra slammed into the magister again with a clang. Corypheus roared and vanished, fade-stepping again. “If you desire death, you shall have it,” he shouted. Cassandra cried out and buckled to her knees. She held back a stream of poisonous power with her shield and it grew hot almost instantly. Solas fade-stepped to her, yanking her out of its path.

“Go!” he shouted, racing for the stairs. The others were just behind. The periodic zip of Varric’s crossbows echoed behind him until a great roar and clatter made him turn. The stairs had crumbled away behind the Inquisitor as the dragons smashed into them.  
“Varric!” she called, reaching over the gap as the dwarf leapt for them, but it was too far.  
“Don’t worry, Inquisitor,” he shouted back, “Bianca’s bite goes farther than you’d think.”  
She shook her head. “Get to cover. I don’t know what happens if he lets it fall.”  
“Let’s find out.” Varric aimed at the distant form of the magister above him and shot again.

Solas pulled her up the steps. Cassandra was already fighting a lesser demon, chopping her way toward Corypheus. He pulled his own barrier around them. The Inquisitor flung a searing bolt. She was getting stronger the closer they came to the Breach. But so was Corypheus.  
“ _Rattus_ ,” scowled the Tevinter, “You are _nothing_. Part of a race of sniveling cowards who shrank before Tevinter’s power.”  
“And _you_ are a carrion beetle,” snapped Solas, “A burrowing pest that cannot leave the dead in peace but claims a giant’s corpse as his kingdom and revels in the rot that he finds there. A scavenger that can neither kill nor create but only steal.” His own spell tore from his hands, slamming into Corypheus who rocked backward with the blow. “And this rattus will _end_ you.”  
“I will sear you from the heavens!” he answered and Solas’s heart stuttered at the agonized cry of the Inquisitor. Pure fade splashed down upon her and she clutched her arm.  
“Vhenan!” he shouted.  
“I’m well,” she gasped, staggering to her feet. Cassandra grunted and bashed the magister. He slid away again and Solas’s spell hit the empty ash where he had stood. “Follow him,” said the Inquisitor, sprinting even as she gripped her arm.

“Look out!” screamed Cassandra, shoving him. A massive boulder smashed into the ground between them, a small shard shattering off and nicking his cheek.  
“Ma serannas, Seeker,” he managed. She nodded and they raced after the Inquisitor.  
“The dragon is wounded,” she called back to them. “Mythal told us we must end it if we are to defeat Corypheus. He will not die as long as it lives.”  
“Then I’m glad we’ve had practice at this,” said Cassandra, bending to catch her breath.  
The dragon’s massive skull turned toward them, its bones knit together by a few flaps of remaining hide and ruby crystals.  
“This will hurt,” said the Inquisitor.  
“You should stay back,” he said, pushing in front of her.  
“No. It will be over soon enough.” She gathered a crackling ball of white fire between her hands, her skin snapping and shimmering. “Ready?” she asked.  
“Always,” said Cassandra, bouncing on her toes.

The lightning shot out, popping and arcing in a tortured bend. A thick, nauseating stench rose from the dragon as it roasted under her fire. Cassandra slashed at it’s hide, trying to rip it open. Solas’s hands swirled and a deep cloud formed above.  
“Seeker,” he warned and she looked up, sprinting away. He let it go, a frozen rain spattering the dragon. For a few seconds, its hide steamed and hissed where the lightning had struck. Then it slowed, its skin stiffening. It was never a strong thing, this creature of ancient bone and brittle scales. But its breath and claws were deadly, even so. It had long terrorized them. No longer. Another power stolen by Corypheus. Another creature enslaved to his mad will. Cassandra and the Inquisitor closed in, neither holding back, and it shattered, collapsing and crumbling into ash. A plume of red sparks rose from it, sucked away toward the tower.  
“What was _that_?” asked Cassandra.  
“Corypheus,” said the Inquisitor. “Or— some vital part of him. He is vulnerable now. We must hurry.”

  
“Let it end here!Let the skies boil, let the world be rent asunder!” shouted the Tevinter from above.  
The Inquisitor looked over at him, the terror plain on her face. “Could he do it? Now? Are we too late?”  
“I don’t know, Vhenan,” he said sadly, looking up at the tower. He stumbled up another set of stairs. Her footsteps echoed closely behind, but Cassandra lagged, exhausted. The tower shook and Cassandra shouted for help. They turned and saw the archway collapsing between them.  
“Cassandra!” called the Inquisitor. She threw aside her staff and clawed at the rubble.  
“I’m well, Inquisitor. But I cannot reach you.”  
He sagged with relief at her voice.

“Are you trapped?” asked the Inquisitor, still rolling aside stones.  
“No, I was not beneath the arch. Maker’s mercy, I’ve failed you—”  
“You haven’t. You have brought us so far, Cassandra. We will finish it. Find Varric if you can— and the others.”  
“I’ll find a way through. I’ll get to you somehow.”  
“Rest, Seeker,” said Solas, touching the stones. “It will be over long before you can find a way. Do not exhaust yourself. You will be needed, no matter the result.”  
There was a deep sigh from the other side, but no further argument. Solas picked up the Inquisitor’s staff and handed it back to her. “We must go,” he said, “He will not need long to tear it down.”

She nodded and headed further up. She was shaking and he caught her hand in his own. “Whatever happens,” she said, turning her face to him, “Know that you are _loved_. Just as you are.” She released his hand and sprinted for the top.  
The Breach was larger and the orb pulsed with power in Corypheus’s hand. “Grant me power, to finish this last rite,” he demanded.  
“Who are you praying to?” asked the Inquisitor, lunging for him. “We all know there is no one listening.” Corypheus flung an arm out at her and she went flying, her back slamming into a stone pillar. Solas didn’t look, couldn’t look, to see if it had killed her. Not when everything she’d suffered for was still in the monster’s hand. He drew from the Breach, a great chunk of stone hurtling into Corypheus. Bigger even than the one Andruil had tried to kill him with so long ago. Corypheus just laughed and batted it away.

“The orb sustains me,” he said, and knocked Solas onto his knees.  
“For how long?” he asked, struggling to stand again. “It is not yours to command. It will kill you. It is already killing _her_ and she has taken care to use it only as she must. You toy with it, and all the time it is consuming you.”

Solas had never been so grateful to see the web of lightning. It slammed into Corypheus. _Still alive,_ he thought. Corypheus staggered. Tried again to summon more power. Solas began tearing at his connection to the Fade.  
“Not like this!” cried Corypheus. “I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages—” He clutched at the orb, trying to pull from it, fighting Solas. The Inquisitor’s hand closed upon his arm, leaning on him for aid. She raised the anchor as he stopped to hold her up. She was battered, blood trickling through her hair, one of her legs dragging uselessly behind her. “Dumat! Ancient Ones, I beseech you,” continued Corypheus. “If you exist, if you ever truly existed, aid me now.”  
“They cannot hear you,” groaned the Inquisitor. The mark flared and the orb wrenched away from Corypheus and into her hand. “We are utterly alone.” She looked over at Solas. “Is this what you want? If you ask me, I will yield.” she said, weary and hopeless.  
His reluctance and own hope won. “Close it, my love,” he said, “Buy us a little more time.”

The mark exploded, arced through her, through the orb in a great channel of power. The breach twisted, pulling itself closed, a great wound, healing at last.  
“This cannot be,” said Corypheus as she took a limping step toward him, the orb still in hand.  
“It is,” she said, taking a few more dragging steps. “See for yourself.” She ripped open a small tear. Corypheus cried out and was sucked in as it snapped shut again. She dropped to the stones, the orb at her side. The tower shuddered, Corypheus’s spell collapsing. “It’s coming down!” she shouted, her hands shooting up to protect herself. His own raised out of pure instinct. A massive boulder hung suspended above her head, their spells holding it there. She looked up at it and then at the orb that had rolled between them. It sat under the shadow of the same stone that threatened her. She looked up at him. “Take it,” she said.

He stared at it for a second.  
“There’s no other way, Solas.” She looked up at the boulder again. “If I let go to move—”  
“Push it away. Help me.” He tried to push against it with his magic, but it was too large and he was too exhausted.  
“I _can’t_ ,” she cried. “There’s nothing left.”  
He faltered.  
“ _Take_ it. Save them. Save your people.”  
“Don’t ask this.”  
“I can’t hold it much longer, emma lath,” she pleaded. “Take it. Hurry.”  
He tried again to shove it away. The boulder slipped a foot toward her. His own spell was failing.  
“You’re the only one who can stop this,” she said, “You told me yourself. Take it or lose everything.”  
He let go and fade-stepped.


	74. That Kind of Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSBgCLTV508 (yeah, I know, a lot of Patty Griffin in this mix-- yeah, I said mix. I'm old. What can I say? Patty's good for the soul)

The boulder slammed into the ground with a resonating thump. He had closed his eyes at the last instant and he lay now, blind, uncertain his prize was still whole. He opened his eyes. Hers were still clenched shut.  
“It’s over,” he said, wiping the blood from her temple. His fingers itched to heal the blow, but his magic was gone. It would be some hours before he could heal even the smaller scratches upon her. Her eyes opened and she looked at him, confused.

  
“You weren’t supposed to choose _me_ ,” she said.  
“And you were never supposed to choose me,” he answered, “yet you did. I could not—” he shook his head. “Never ask this of me again,” he said.

She brushed his cheek clean of tears. “I will not. I’ll find a way to keep you from another choice like this.” He pulled her slowly up to sit and she immediately crawled toward the rubble, pushing stones out of the way. He joined her picking through the wreckage.

“Maybe it’s—” She broke off and looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, and held up a shard of the orb. He took it from her and ran a hand over his skull with a sob. Her arms slid around him. “We’ll fix it,” she whispered. “I’m _sorry_. I’ll fix it.”  
“It cannot be fixed,” he said. “The power that was within it is gone. It cannot be put back.” He dropped it and clung to her instead. “And none of this is your doing.”  
“Then— we’ll find another way. Another source. We have time. I still have the anchor. A decade, you said, if we closed the rifts.” She pressed her lips to his neck, her hand hard upon his back. Solid. Real. “And we’ll work on a cure for the Blight, just as we’ve started to do. Nothing has changed.”

“It has,” he said and pulled back a little, folding her marked hand between them. “The world has time, perhaps. But you—” he traced the mark. It had spread halfway to her elbow now, a gauntlet of fade and flesh. He shook his head. “You do not have a decade. I have to find a way to take it out. I have to find another way to go back and change it all.”  
“ _We,_ Solas. We have to find a way. We’ll find Mythal again—”  
His grip tightened around her. “Yes! She will know. I must find her before she leaves the Crossroads and disappears again.”  
“Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s voice floated up from below, and then a rumble as more stones shifted. Varric’s voice, cursing, followed.  
“A day,” she said. “Just one. To be certain they are well. To send word back to Skyhold.”  
His heart sank. “You must stay,” he said.  
“What? Only a day, Solas,” she begged. He shook his head. “An hour then, and I will go with you to the edges of Thedas.”  
He kissed her, as softly as he could. “You must stay,” he repeated. “These people need you. And if I wait, a day will become a week, and then a month and then—” He brought the anchor to his lips. “The Inquisition cannot just disappear tomorrow. It would be war. A dozen factions battling to fulfill the promises you’ve made. So many would suffer. All our work undone, all the inches you’ve gained.”  
“But—”  
“You must stay.”  
“Don’t do this. Just give me a little time—”  
“I’m trying,” he said, pulling carefully back from her. “I’m trying to borrow a little more time for you. A few more breaths. But I need help. I need Mythal. She is the only one with enough power to do this.”  
“Then let _her_ do it.”  
“Perhaps she will.”  
“And— you’ll return?”  
He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “Ar lath ma, Vhenan,” he said. “You make the world worth saving.”

He slid away from her even as she reached for him. It was Cassandra that saved him from crumbling. She called out to the Inquisitor again and he walked away as the Inquisitor turned her face toward the sound. He crouched at the top of the valley, watching as Cassandra and Varric helped her hobble down the temple stairs far below him. When he was certain she was safe, he tore himself away, heading for the tiny forgotten shrine in the Hinterlands where one of his eluvians sat silent and dark.

She did not sleep that night. He could feel it in the painful pull of her searching for him, even as she knew he was gone. _It will fade,_ he told himself. _She will forget, find happiness and peace. Cole will help her._ He kept repeating it over the days and nights that followed, the heavy ache in his chest never easing. It was not long before he realized he could not tell if the pain were his own or hers. And, as often as he reminded himself that time would heal what he could not, he felt fresh sorrow at the idea that it would someday stop. That she would stop looking, at last, and he would be alone again. He was uncertain whether that pain might not be even worse. But need drove him, where will could not. And when he found Mythal, at last, he had learned to breathe around the ache, to turn his thoughts to dry and methodical things.

He could not yet bear to notice the world around him. It only reminded him that she was not there to experience it with. And the Fade was torture. A thousand times worse when she slept, because she looked for him even in dreams. He had to push her away, wander far from where he most wished to be. He feared what little resolve he had mustered would be swept away with just one more word from her.

“I knew you would come.” Mythal’s voice was strange. It came from a human throat, much softer than the commanding tone he remembered. He wondered if it were only the physicality that had changed it or if something in her spirit had altered as well. “This was not the way I expected to find you when we met, though,” she said. She looked at him sadly, a distant echo of the woman he had once known. “You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf.”  
“I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber,” he said. “After Wisdom told me what had happened— I thought it would be the swiftest way.”

She laughed, but it was not a happy one. “You have always been impulsive. And it has always gotten you into trouble. You must remember to breathe, Solas. To focus not on your mistakes, but on your goals.”  
“I am trying.”  
“I know. The Inquisitor has taught you much. But I fear the lesson may have arrived too late.”  
“Can you aid me?”  
“I meant to,” she said. “I would have taken your place, undone it myself as you asked me to. The whole thing, even the Evanuris. But I cannot undo your spell. Only you can. Unless you let it fall.”  
He shook his head. “If it does—”  
“I know. And without the power of the orb, you cannot undo it either. There is only one way now, for this to work. I cannot take this burden from you, though I wish to.”

He knew what she offered. Her own power. Her own strength gathered drop by drop through ages. “The failure was mine. I should pay the price,” he said, “But the People— they need me.”  
She touched his face, fondly. “This is not the existence I’d hoped for you. Nor for me. But _you_ did not start the war. Nor seek out the spear. What you did— what you’ve always done, has been to shield others from harm. You have paid a price already, for someone else’s greed and cruelty. I release you from your oath. Please, Solas, do not forget my people.”  
“I am so sorry,” he said.  
“I am sorry as well, old friend,” she said, her voice breaking. “This should never have fallen upon you.” She let her hand fall away from him.

He felt her power hit his chest, dizzying and weighty. She slumped and he caught her body even as her magic coursed through him, surging in his veins. He laid her down gently on the stone and sucked in a burning breath. He sat for a moment staring her body. His mind and heart were so weary. Worn thin, even as his body filled with new vigor. He lay down at her feet as he had done so many centuries before, and he went to sleep. One more dream before he began his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more, I promise. This will go past trespasser. Not all sad, I hope :) And book 2 is in edits now so hopefully I'll be able to update a little more often until I dive into book 3.


	75. Thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJp2ymL08xg

Cole hopped after a trio of nugs. They squeaked and tumbled over the cracked statue of a faceless paragon. Varric was half watching, half squinting at a book in the firelight. “Careful kid, they have a powerful kick if you corner them,” he said.  
“They aren’t scared,” called Cole.  
“They’re nugs. Their natural state is scared,” he muttered. He shook his head as Cole bounded past the fire. The Inquisitor emerged from the tomb’s dark archway, pushing her hood back from her forehead. A shower of sand slid from it.

  
“It’s not letting up,” she said.  
Solas looked up from the staff he was rebinding. “It is not such a hardship, Vhenan. We’re sheltered and provisioned, the storm will blow itself out long before we become uncomfortable.”  
She wriggled uncomfortably, little flurries of sand bursting from her clothes as she shook them. “Grit _everywhere_ ,” she grumbled.  
“This is why I stay in the city,” said Varric, turning a page.  
“Oh?” asked Solas with a small laugh, “You’re claiming there’s no grit in Kirkwall? I’ve _been_ to Kirkwall. The Hanged Man is probably dirtier than the Wastes.”  
“Sure, but at least it’s got ale. Never been so thirsty,” said Varric.

The Inquisitor frowned and tossed the cloak onto a nearby statue. She crossed to her pack and pulled out a waterskin.  
“It _is_ very dry here.” She handed it to Varric who shook his head.  
“You need it too,” he said.  
“I need a bath,” she laughed, “but I doubt there’s sufficient water for that. Take it. We have enough for all of us tonight. We’ll get more in the morning.” Varric accepted it with a nod. She sat between them, sliding off her boots to dump them. Solas went back to wrapping hide onto the staff. The leather slipped and cut into his dry palm and he sucked in a surprised breath at the small burn. She pulled his hand away to see and then got up again without saying anything. Solas had forgotten it in the few moments it took her to return.

“Let me see,” she said.  
“I’ve already healed it,” he answered, tightening a knot.  
“The dryness will make it happen again. I can help.”  
He looked up blankly, still distracted by the staff. She grabbed his hand and smeared a waxy lotion onto it. It melted against his skin and she rubbed it in, her fingers rippling over the bones of his knuckles, warm and softer than he’d expected. He put the staff down and turned toward her fully. She didn’t look up, concentrating on his palm. He wished that she would.

“What is this?” he asked.  
“Just a balm. Sera gives me the wax from her bees.” She reached for his other hand. A small earthenware pot sat in her lap. She scooped out more and her fingers glided over his. The balm sank into small cracks he hadn’t noticed. Binding the staff had cramped his hands and they relaxed and loosened as she pressed them.  
“Thank you,” he said as she released him. He rubbed his fingers together experimentally.

“Wait,” she said, “I’m not done yet.” She rose up on her knees. “Your face is chapped. The wind and the sand— your ears too.” She touched the edge of his right ear and winced at their redness. “Hold this.” She placed the pot into his palm and scraped a little more onto her fingers. He let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the balm seeped into the skin of his ears and he closed his eyes.  
“I know, emma lath, mine were sore too,” she said quietly, her breath soft on his face.

Her touch was weightless, just a trail of slow warmth that crept along his ear. Then heavier, soothing circles pressing into his scalp. Her fingers brushed by his wrist as she reached for more, and her deep, smooth breath the only sound while she worked. He opened his eyes as her hands left him only to find her raising them again to his cheeks. He could almost remember the smell. Sweet and light like an idea of honey. He stared at her while she spread it over his face. The way she hesitated before her skin met his, afraid to hurt him. The way her gaze flickered up to his and then away, trying to concentrate and failing. The windblown hair that had escaped her braid and clung to the slight damp of her face. She was beautiful. She blushed and laughed.

“What is it?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me?”  
He smiled. “Where else shall I look?” he asked.  
She shook her head and gently rubbed the wax over his lips. “There,” she said, sinking down again. “Better?”  
“Almost—” he pulled a dab of the stuff from the pot.  
“Did I miss a spot?” she asked.  
“Yes,” he said, lifting his fingers to her lips, feeling them soften under his touch. He was about to pull her into a kiss when Cole hopped back toward them. He stopped beside Solas.

“Why this one?” he asked. “What makes this memory special?”  
The tomb evaporated along with the Inquisitor and Varric. He turned to the boy. “Nothing,” he said sadly. “There was nothing special about it. And that’s why I wanted it to be this one.”  
“I _hurt_ , Solas,” he said.  
“I know. I’m sorry.”  
“And she hurts. And you hurt. You could come back.”  
“I can’t. The orb is gone. Mythal has helped, but it is not enough. She was not as strong as I remembered and I must find another way. Before the anchor consumes the Inquisitor.”

Cole sat in front of him. “She said you would refuse. Let me come with you.”  
“No.”  
“She knows you need me more. She will let me go.”  
“You cannot help this, Cole. And traveling with me will not help your hurt. It will make it worse. This fate is mine alone. Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone I care for. I know you reached out in compassion, but this can only cause more pain. Do not seek me out again here. I must insist that you _forget_.” He pushed the boy gently from the Fade and followed after. There was no peace here. Not for him.  
He rose from the cold stone. He ignited the body beside him and watched the ash scatter before opening the eluvian and passing through.

Dirthamen’s library was vast and cold and dark, no matter how many hearths he kept burning. Solas hated it. But what he needed would likely be here. The ravens, at least, made it feel like home. The tower, like his, had once been a living, massive tree. Blasted by lightning and burned to the stump, it had slowly ossified. Dirthamen had made his temple in the dark, twisting root system. It was difficult to reach, even with the eluvians and Solas’s people were frightened by it. He did not compel them to come, usually meeting them in the Crossroads instead. So he was surprised to look up from his notes one morning to see Loranil wandering through the spiral bookshelves with something in his hand.

“Did she send you?” was all he asked.  
“No,” said Loranil, “not exactly. She doesn’t know I’m here or that I know of you. But— we traveled to Lothering. They requested the Inquisitor’s help to close a small rift that remained there. She found a ruin just after we arrived and activated an amplifier there. She left camp that night, alone, and returned to it. I— didn’t mean to follow her, I was only curious about the ruins. She placed this at the base of the amplifier and went away again. I think it’s meant for you.” He held out a scroll. Solas took it carefully. A tiny shard of his orb was tied to the seal, the whorled grooves instantly recognizable.  
“Thank you,” he said.  
Loranil bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and turned to go.  
“Loranil—”  
The boy turned back.  
“If you see her do this again— it is not vital, but I would be deeply grateful for any others you bring me.”  
He nodded and walked quickly away.

Solas sank down onto a nearby root. He could feel her magic lingering on the parchment, like the subtle charge in the air before a storm. It was sealed with a spell. It would only ever open for him. He appreciated the thought, though he no longer feared discovery. There were none now, who could match him, save those who slept. He gently pulled the fragment of stone from the scroll. A glimmer on the back caught his eye. A memory then. He placed it carefully on the desk for later and unrolled the paper to read.

Fanor,

We are near Lothering today, Dorian and I. The locals think we are here to close a rift, but Morrigan informs me this area was among the first hit by the last Blight. We are hoping to find something that will help. Lyrium, perhaps, or the spot where the darkspawn emerged. Something. Anything.  
Cassandra and Leliana departed yesterday. They go to Val Royeaux. One to become the next Divine, the other to guard and guide. I don’t know how you found the courage to tell the truth. I cannot seem to muster it. I am not even certain I wish to. I cannot tell them that everything they believe, everything they think they serve, is not as it seems. I cannot tell them that no one hears their prayers. So, my right and left hands are gone, to be someone else’s.

And my heart.

I dreamed the other night of that sandstorm in the Wastes. Do you remember? My thirst was so great. The river above Skyhold roars and swells with the snowmelt now. Spring has come to the Frostbacks. I hope to find a way to end this before the dawn lotus bloom. So that you may return to see them. Do not grieve, emma lath, for I know you will. The world renews and old wounds are swept away in the spring floods. Dagna and I discover more every day. We will find a way.

I am uncertain how to find you, but Cole tells me that it is how you wish it to be. But I find my list has only grown since your departure, so I add this here and hope it will make its way to you at last.

Ar lath ma.

Solas picked up the shard of his orb again, his fingers tracing the grooves as hers no doubt had. He flicked his hand toward a nearby lamp and it sparked with veilfire. He held up the fragment to read what she had written. “Thirst”

He found this one was different from her previous attempts. More removed. More controlled. More room. Room for his own version of the memory to color it. Room for himself. The sandstorm had lasted more than a day, still raging over the Wastes when morning came. He’d found her worrying at the door of the tomb, her face half shielded from the sand by her cloak. Only her eyes, staring intently into the dust.

“It will do no good to watch it, Vhenan,” he said.  
She had turned toward him and he had seen the smile light up her eyes even while the rest of her was covered. He remembered how his heart had sped up, as it always did when she greeted him. “It’s a fascinating thing, how something so small, a grain of sand, can defeat us, scrape us into sand ourselves,” she said.  
“Beautiful and perilous,” he said reaching for her hand. “But I know you too well. You are not standing here marveling. You’re worrying. Why?”

She sighed. “We are low on water,” she admitted. “I expected the storm to clear by now.”  
“You are thirsty?” he asked.  
“Parched. But it is no more than I am certain you are.”  
“Then it is fortunate you have an ice mage in tow,” he said.  
She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t see—”  
“Do you know how ice magic works, my love?” he glanced back toward the tomb’s interior. Varric was still snoring and Cole was absorbed in feeding a nug small bits of bread. Solas tugged the edge of her cloak, unraveling it from around her, sliding her hood away.

“It sucks any moisture from the air,” he said. He held up his hand and his fingers already sparkled with frost. “Gathers it and cools it into ice.” He brushed his fingers over her forehead. The sand washed away under his touch. She closed her eyes in relief and he let more frost collect before gingerly sliding his fingertips over her eyelids, cleansing the grit away. “A little, like this,” he whispered, stepping closer as he trailed his hand down her chin and neck. He watched small droplets cling and then trickle in his wake, thinking of rain as they fell away, heated from her skin.

“Or more, like this,” he continued, pulling more between his fingers until a small jagged crystal of ice formed. He let it slide over her lips and she opened her mouth to take it. She saw him watching her and laughed, kissing him. The ice crystal melted between them.

The memory ended, though he tried to pull it out longer. He found himself lighter, hopeful. _Foolish,_ he told himself, but did not push it away. He got up and looked for a long moment at the twisted root bookshelf beside the desk. He swept the books from them and reverently placed both the scroll and the stone atop it. Then he turned back to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one today. Mostly sweet I hope, because I've been writing this story for exactly a year today. Happy birthday little fic!


	76. Weisshaupt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21wbsJCCHdQ

He found it ridiculous, the way the silence unnerved him. At first, he’d thought the temple under a lingering spell. That Dirthamen had enforced utter quiet even here. He’d spent whole hours reaching out to test the the wards, expecting to find one he’d overlooked. It had taken weeks for him to conclude that it was only the natural stillness of the barren stone that caused it. The loneliness of the place where no beast or bird willingly trespassed.

  
Some days, it was easier to ignore. He’d rise, still weary, every morning, escaping an endless battle with his own will, resisting the uninterrupted urge to seek out the Inquisitor. Then the drudgery of checking the Veil. Over and over, every morning. It required focus, though, and it helped him push out the quiet. Recruitment reports after and sometimes a trip to find allies himself or to the training grounds or the Brecilian forest. And then the next set of intricate spellwork to recreate Alexius’s amulet. The ransacking of Dirthamen’s library and his armory as Solas rebuilt his former strength. Surpassed it.

It was only the evenings, when he allowed himself to turn to the problem of the anchor, that he noticed the deep, lifeless hush around him. It shouldn’t have bothered him. Shouldn’t have torn his focus from the useless tracts that he pored over. He had lived in silence many times. Even before Mythal’s death. He’d found it comfortable, easy. No arguments, no mockery to defend against, no lies to tell. But now— he pushed aside the scroll on magic transference with a sigh.

There was nothing here. Nothing that should have taken him from her. No answers. Not for her, not for the world. He’d stripped everything useful from the armory. He hated the place. And all the time, the mark was creeping deeper toward her heart and the Veil was slipping away. He stared at the amulet hanging from its apparatus, the delicate spells slowly working their inscriptions over its surface. This stage would take days. He could feel his sanity fraying. The solitary shard of his orb glimmered in the half-light of the torches.

He pushed away from the desk and gave in. One look. She need never know. He’d just hear her voice. See how large the mark had grown in her dreams. Reassure himself of her happiness. And tomorrow, he’d be stronger for it. He’d leave the spells to work and depart for Falon’din’s temple. Surely, _there_ would lay hidden some way to slow her mortality, some way to turn back the wound. He folded his hands in his lap and let his head rest against the warm wood of the chair. Tomorrow would be better.

It was a relief to follow the constant tug of her. As if he had been clinging to a thin ledge over a great river and had suddenly let go, drifting in a great current. It was difficult to honor his own promise. It was difficult concealing himself from her. But he was not entirely certain that seeing him would not hurt her more than help her. A half-built undercroft fell away into raw Fade as she bent over Dagna’s large table. She was too busy, even in sleep, to focus on what surrounded her. It pained him to see her face still marred by the vallaslin in this place. He had removed them from her skin, but they had not yet dissolved from her heart. Perhaps they never would. Cole was standing beside her, rocking from foot to foot and staring anxiously at the vial of ruby liquid in her hand.

“Let me do it this time, Inquisitor,” he pleaded.  
She shook her head. “I can’t do that to you.”  
“It won’t hurt me. I’m not like you.”  
“I can’t, Cole. If it did—”  
“It won’t. Not real, remember?”  
“You _are_. Don’t say that.”  
“I didn’t mean me,” said Cole. He wrung his hands. She placed one of her own over his.  
“Don’t worry,” she said, “It’s going to work this time.”  
Cole shook his head. “Won’t work if you don’t _think_ it’ll work. Let me do it.” She ignored him and tipped the vial against her lips, swallowing the liquid. She coughed.

Cole looked over at Solas and he knew the boy realized he was there. Solas held a finger up to his lips and shook his head.  
“No good,” cried the Inquisitor, watching the skin of her hand turn livid, mottled with darkness. She clutched at her throat and blinked out. Cole turned to him.

“Every night. Always dying. Again and again. It never works.”  
“How long has this been happening?” asked Solas.  
“Weeks. Searching every day for a cure and failing every night in her sleep. Dorian thinks it’s _you_ , this obsession with what she cannot change. He indulges her. Thinks this is how she fills up the gap you left. They all do. They all think it when they believe she cannot hear. That this is madness, this quest to cure the Blight. That she will spend her grief in this for a month, two, and return to them. She lies to save them. And you. It is not the Blight that fills up the you-shaped-hole. It’s her. She is only herself when she’s _here_. Where nobody sees.”  
“You see.”  
Cole shook his head. “She doesn’t know. She forgets where she is. It’s why it never works.” His head snapped toward the undercroft door. “Again,” he moaned.

The Inquisitor stepped through the door, just as if she’d never woken.  
“Let’s go see the river,” said Cole, standing in front of her work.  
“Yes, Cole,” said the Inquisitor, “In just a moment.” She guided him gently out of the way. “I need to finish this potion. I know it will work this time.” She began crushing something in a small bowl.  
“Good,” said Cole, “let me try it.”  
She hesitated. “Better not, Cole, just in case.”  
“But it’s going to work this time, so I can drink it.”  
She sprinkled the dust into the vial. “It was the felandaris,” she said, ignoring Cole. “I forgot last time. This is the solution.” She looked up sharply. “Can you find Solas if it works?” she asked.

He felt a sharp ache bloom in his center, but made no move to reveal himself, even as Cole stared at him.  
“I promised not to search for him,” the boy said sadly.  
The Inquisitor smiled and patted his shoulder. “All is well,” she said, “We’ll put out word. The news will reach him and he’ll come home.” She held up the vial. “It’s going to work this time,” she said, but her expression betrayed her. Cole silently shook his head as she drank it. Solas couldn’t watch her wake in agony again. He fought the pull of her mind, twisting the Fade so that her flesh stayed clear, so that she did not feel her throat closing around her breath. Her face brightened in shock and delight. “It’s the one!” she cried and pressed Cole into a hug.

The boy laughed in surprise. “We did it,” she said.  
“Yes!” said Cole, unwilling to break the sudden happiness that had spread over her. Solas felt a deep calm at her smile. She released Cole and turned back to the table.  
“Good,” she said, “The felandaris was it. Let me just add it to the notes and I’ll get it to the…” she trailed off, pulling apart papers on the desk. Cole’s smile faltered. Solas realized she’d never find it, because she didn’t know the solution, never had. That she looked for it— the delusion was deep and troubling, but he waited, hoping it would be the thing that showed her she was in the Fade and release her from the dream. She paged through more. “I know it’s here. I put them right—” Pages began appearing at the edge of the table, piling up, spilling over, sliding away. She kept ruffling through them, quicker now.  
“It’s okay,” said Cole, holding his hands over hers. “We’ll find them.”  
“Yes, yes of course we will.” She laughed nervously and raked a hand through her hair. “They’re here somewhere. I wouldn’t have done all this work just to lose the solution now.” Her hands were shoving pages out of the way. “I wouldn’t have lost the one thing that would fix it all—”

Cole glanced over at him.  
“There’s too many,” she cried. “I’ve got to remember. Write it again. Dorian will know—” she blinked out again.  
“I’ve made it worse,” said Solas. “Now she’ll blame herself. Make her forget, Cole. Let it go back the way it was. I do not want her to believe she is responsible. Not even in dreams.”  
“You could come back. All of it would stop.”  
“Only here. The problem would still remain. One of many. Do this for me, _please_. Let it go back to the dream of trying the potion. At least then she had some hope.”

The boy stared sadly at him.  
“I will return, when I find a way to stop this. The mark, the Blight, the Veil. I cannot do it in the Inquisition. It is too small, too constrained by the eyes of others. And she cannot leave it. Not yet.”  
“The others are,” said Cole. “Drifting away, one by one. Leaves from the tree, bound away.”  
“I know. When they are gone, when Thedas turns against her, and it will, I will ask her again to come with me.”  
Cole shook his head. “She will refuse.”  
“Nothing is inevitable, Cole.” He let the dream slip away. The morning was not better. He stared at the amulet. There was no point remaining here waiting for spells.

The anchor’s threat was still months away. He had time. But the Inquisitor’s mind would break much sooner. He had to find a way to help her. Some thread, some new hope to follow. He grabbed his pack and his staff and set off.

The Anderfels were distant, even by eluvian. It was not the time it would take that made him nervous, but the miles that stretched between him and the Skyhold. Dirthamen’s temple, in truth, was only a few hours travel within the network. He had not gone so far that he could not aid her, should the need arise. But Weisshaupt was a lonely, crumbling tower clutching the edges of an island of rock leagues from her. It was not easy to get to, nor to return from. He told himself the separation paled to the one that would come later. And if he could still aid her— he swallowed his reluctance.  
The Gray Wardens were not happy to receive visitors. Especially not one they believed was from the Inquisition. He stood in the chilled rough wind at the gate while a dour warden considered him.  
“We don’t take petitions,” she said tersely.  
“I am not here to petition the Wardens,” he said calmly. “I’m here to help you.”  
To her credit, she showed no surprise. “Ah. Where is the Warden who recruited you?”  
“I didn’t come to join you either. I need to consult with the Hero of Ferelden.”  
It earned him a sneer. “The Wardens don’t abide hero worship—”  
“Good,” he interrupted, feeling his patience quickly wane, “I’m the last person who would walk all this way to admire a Warden. She has been doing research on your— condition. I am here to hopefully help her in that.”  
“Who _are_ you?”

A man above leaned over the ramparts. “He was with the Inquisitor at Adamant,” he said, squinting down at Solas.  
The woman nodded. “Get Rainier, then. He can handle it,” she called back over her shoulder. She glared at Solas for a few more moments until Blackwall emerged from the courtyard.  
“Solas!” he cried, “We got the message from the Inquisitor just a few days ago. Didn’t expect you’d make a personal trip.” Blackwall shook his hand.  
“I didn’t come from the Inquisition,” he said quietly. “I need to speak to the Hero. Can you help me locate her?”  
Some shade of discomfort crossed Blackwall’s face and was gone. “Come inside,” he said with a sly sideways glance toward the guard. “You must be tired. Long way from anywhere.” He clapped Solas’s shoulder and led him bodily into the keep. Solas stayed silent as they crossed the courtyard, following Blackwall into an empty barracks.

“Should be able to talk here,” he said quietly. “The other Recruits will be training for a few hours yet.” He sat down on a nearby bench and Solas took a seat across from him. “What do you mean you didn’t come from the Inquisition? Has something happened to her?”

He shook his head. “The Inquisitor is well. But my goal is outside of the Inquisition’s responsibilities.”  
Blackwall nodded, even though Solas could see he did not understand. But they both understood the value of a secret and the Warden did not press. “However you came, I’m glad to see you. There’s a rat in the butter, here. I know you have your differences with the Wardens, but this— the Hero of Ferelden is involved somehow.”

Solas leaned forward, waiting. Blackwall lowered his voice even farther, though they were still alone. “Between the end of the Blight ten years ago and Adamant, there are fewer than two hundred Gray Wardens left. The war and the Breach brought them dozens of recruits. There were already a couple dozen when I arrived. But no Joinings have happened in almost a year.”  
“After what we witnessed at Adamant, I believe that might be fortunate,” said Solas.  
Blackwall shook his head. “It isn’t luck. It was the Hero. She’s been pushing the First Warden to take advantage of the quiet and research the Blight. She was on her own for a while, but she finally won over enough of the order to press the First Warden to allow her to use the recruits to help her research. She’s refused to let them undergo the Joining ever since. Says it’s to prevent the taint from muddling her studies, but after Adamant…” He shook his head. “The older Wardens are becoming restless though. They are calling for a Joining before too many depart for the Deep Roads. She is still fighting the ceremony, but I don’t think she’ll be able to hold it off much longer.”

Solas grabbed Blackwall’s arm. “You _must_ help her. Don’t take the Joining, Blackwall. It isn’t what you think.”  
“I know we don’t survive,” he said, “I’ve known for a while now. If that is the price—”  
“It _isn’t_ ,” hissed Solas, “You don’t need the Joining to fight the Blight. For centuries the Wardens have forced recruits at swordpoint to perform the Joining, but if the Hero of Ferelden is fighting it— side with her. I am here to help her find an alternative, another way to shield the Wardens from the Blight.”  
Blackwall smoothed his beard. “Never expected you to care much what happens with the Wardens. The Inquisitor, yes, I’d expect _her_ to have sent you or to come. But not on your own. Why are you really here, Solas?”  
“In truth, it is for the Inquisitor’s sake, though she did not send me. It is not a selfless act, I need the Hero of Ferelden’s research as much as she may need mine.”

Blackwall blanched and sat back. “She’s not— is she infected?”  
“She is well. They all are. And slowly returning to their lives.”  
He nodded. “That will be difficult. I don’t think I could go back to the way it was before.”  
“Varric said something similar once.”  
Blackwall smiled. “I’m glad the Inquisitor has got you then. Would have been hard, leaving her alone after all this. Somehow the ones that sacrifice the most usually end up finding the least joy after. I am happy to see it won’t be the same for her.”

Solas was silent, finding it hard to breathe around the loss of her again, a sharp shock of grief he thought he’d pressed down for good. Blackwall didn’t notice.  
“No good if we keep you here though, away from her. Let’s find the Hero and get you home.”


	77. Brosca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTItWzy5pTc

When Blackwall led him to the fortress’s expansive stables, Solas had assumed it was simply a matter of comfort for the man. Something warm and familiar in the harsh emptiness of the Anderfels. He had not expected to meet Warden Brosca there. Especially not as she was, giggling at the tiny nips of the fledgeling griffins in her lap, flecks of straw clinging to her hair and tunic and a massive mabari barking madly beside her. He was uncertain which was more shocking, the griffins or the mirth of the Warden who had saved Ferelden. She’d earned it, he knew, and it certainly made Leliana’s affection and protectiveness understandable. Still, he knew she’d seen as much battle, or more, than the Inquisition. And she, too, was facing her own mortality in the near future.

Had things been different— had _he_ been different, could Lavellan have been as happy, as untroubled as the Warden?

Blackwall crouched down beside her, stroking the head of one of the fledgelings. Warden Brosca looked up at him. “This is Master Solas,” said Blackwall. “He’s a friend of the Inquisitor’s.”  
The smile on her face diminished, wavered. “I know who he is,” she said, and it troubled Solas, that dimming of her joy, but she stuck a hand out to him, offering her friendship. He shook it. “You sent the tincture.”  
He nodded.  
“Thank you,” she said, rising and brushing herself off. “It’s saved us years of research.”

“I was hoping you had found something that I have not. The Inquisitor is stuck. I have no way to help her farther. I was hoping that you might.”  
“I have ideas,” she said, “I’m afraid not much more than that, yet. Things here are— complicated.”  
Blackwall nodded beside them. Solas wanted to shout at them both. The petty power struggles of the Wardens were— he closed his eyes a moment. He could almost hear the Inquisitor’s voice in his ear. They were people. They were real. Their attempts to reform the order, to be what they once dreamed, that was honorable. Even if it was inconvenient. He gave Brosca a patient smile. “Ideas are a good beginning. Between you and the Inquisitor and Madame de Fer, I am certain the puzzle will unravel.”

The Warden tilted her head, considering him. “Come with me,” she said, “I want to show you something.” He followed her out and across the courtyard, leaving Blackwall with the fledgelings. The mabari followed, shoving himself between Warden Brosca and Solas protectively.  
“Leliana says you left the Inquisition,” she said flatly. They passed back into the fortress, winding down a long set of stone stairs.  
“Yes.”  
“Then why are you really here?”  
“I left the Inquisition. Not Lavellan.”  
Brosca looked back over her shoulder at him. “I was hurt when Leliana left to serve the Divine,” she said. “I came back to Weisshaupt after a fight. I have never regretted anything more.”  
“Why do you stay, then?” he asked.  
The Warden shrugged. “At first, it was anger. And then the griffins. And Adamant.”  
“And now?”  
“And now I know what the Joining really did to us.”

“Ah. Yes. The Inquisitor was also very disturbed by it.”  
“The First Warden insists that it was necessary. That he’d do the same even understanding that it infects us. But— I _wonder_. Alistair and I were not alone in the battle against the archdemon. Fate decreed that I swing that final blow. Morrigan— Morrigan takes credit for our survival. But if it had been another, if it had been Sten or Wynne— would the archdemon still have died? The legends say it is always a Warden who lands the final blow, but is that only because the Wardens are the ones who happen to be standing at the end? It is so ingrained now, that no one fights it. Nobody questions. The Wardens show up because that’s what’s expected. And others retreat because that is also expected.”

They reached the base of a large tower, the cool stones echoing with their footsteps. “And we let new recruits swallow that infernal darkspawn blood because someone, somewhere, back in the first Blight got an accidental mouthful and didn’t die. It’s— it’s insanity.”  
“I agree. But I don’t see how remaining here changes that.”  
“I’m staying to prevent the new recruits from undergoing the Joining. Or— at least the blood part. Hawke stays for the same reason.”  
Solas nodded. “I see. The First Warden is insistent on it then?”  
Warden Brosca sighed. “He has at least granted us a period of time to prove that what we believe is true. That an archdemon can be felled by someone who has not undergone the Joining. The Inquisitor’s account of the battle with Corypheus and his dragon is helpful but…”  
“But not the same,” Solas finished.  
“Yes. I don’t suppose you have a spare archdemon lying around to test it on?”  
He smiled. “If I did, I don’t have any volunteers to battle it in my pack.”

He said it lightly but it sparked a thought. “It was _you_ that put the idea in their heads wasn’t it? The Wardens in Adamant were convinced they could wipe out the Blight if they found and slaughtered any archdemons before they could wake.”  
Brosca scowled. “Clarel was a fool. Stuck the way the First Warden is stuck. She couldn’t understand what Alistair and I were trying to tell her. Corypheus used her confusion and look where it got us.” She led him to a large armchair in front of a fireplace.

An enormous cauldron bubbled away inside it. She sniffed it as he sat. “This is batch eight of your remedy. I tried a few things. We heard the Legion has been encountering more hordes than normal. The last batch has helped to slow the Blight in three who caught the Blight, just as you predicted, but it hasn’t lessened the infection. Your enchanter has already made some adjustments and I’ve added the stamens of a flower that grows in the Korcari Wilds. I have noticed no difference in my own condition, but I don’t think it is advanced far enough to notice.”  
“You’re _testing_ it?” he gasped.  
She turned to stare at him. “What's the alternative? Do nothing?”  
He had no answer for her. Not when the Inquisitor’s own words echoed so loudly inside of hers.

“Anyhow,” she said after a moment, “I have been corresponding with the Inquisition. We will find the cure eventually. Your enchanter is returning to Montsimmard. She believes the resources there will be of use and one of the Inquisition, the mage Fiona, has agreed to submit to studies there. She is the lone survivor of the Blight that we have found. But I don’t know that I have anything new to help the Inquisitor. We’re all at a bit of a standstill, I’m afraid.”

It was as he’d expected. A fruitless effort. A kind of madness, just as Cole had said. He thought for long moments, staring into the flames as Brosca pushed a cup of warm wine into his hand. If they could not turn back the Blight, perhaps they could at least stop its spread. Find the source.  
“Why did you think killing the archdemons would eliminate the Blight?” he asked.  
“We didn’t. Clarel got it wrong.” She sank down into another chair. “We had dreams, Alistair and I. And no one to explain them. Even I had them. Dwarves don’t dream. But I _saw_. The darkspawn don’t invade by themselves. They may wander into the deep roads on occasion, even in small bands. But not in the vast armies we saw at Ostagar and Denerim. Not coordinated. In my dreams, the archdemon led them. It was their general. I did not tell Clarel to kill them. I’m not even certain killing Urthemiel was right.”  
“What?” asked Solas. He leaned forward, suddenly alert.  
“Look at Corypheus. He had something like an archdemon at his command up until the end. He was able to call upon the Blight at will. From what Hawke told me, he survived several battles that ought to have ended him through the Blight. If we could find out _why_ — or even why the darkspawn listen to an archdemon’s call, perhaps we could turn them back. I wanted Clarel to locate one. Just to study. Not to harm. If it could lead us to the origins of the Blight…” she shook her head. “Rainier told me the Inquisitor believed Corypheus’s bargain with Clarel was all a ruse. That he never intended to honor his side of the deal. I am not so sure that is right. If Corypheus had won, he would have immediately gone after any rival. Imagine, an army of darkspawn the like of which has never been seen. All under his control once the other Old Gods were gone.” Brosca shuddered and Solas felt a deep, aching chill.

She shook her head and smiled brightly at him. “But you and your love have stopped that. No good dwelling on it now. And we are closing in on a solution for those already infected. The fight now, for Hawke and I is mostly political. We need to keep the recruits from undergoing the Joining until the First Warden agrees to change it— or until he is replaced. I am glad the Inquisitor lifted the banishment, though. It will give us places to spread out and send recruits to, if things get heated here.” She patted his hand on the chair arm. “Go home, Master Solas. There are so few days of peace for people like us. Whatever it is that takes you from the Inquisitor’s side— it isn’t worth it.”  
“Your distance from Leliana would say otherwise,” he said softly.

She turned back toward the fire. “Thirty years, Alistair told me. And ten have flown away. The days wind down faster than I intend and we are both still too stubborn to come back together.” She glanced back at him. “Things will come to a head here, quickly. If we should be pushed out— there are few places that would welcome Gray Wardens. Especially ones cast out of their order. The Grand Cathedral is not one of those places.”

He sat silent for a moment, watching her. “There is one place. Go to Skyhold. It will need an army to defend it.”  
Brosca shook her head. “It has an army. One that will not be glad to see the Wardens.”  
His hands twisted in his lap, laying a spell into the flames of the hearth. “The Inquisition’s tasks are almost over. How long will Orlais and Ferelden tolerate its interference now that the threat of Corypheus is gone? They will abandon Skyhold. By decree or just lack of interest. The Inquisitor will keep it alone. She will need you, and others like you. I do not ask only for your sake, but also for hers. You would be doing a great service for me. And for those I love. I am trusting you to lead others who are in need. The struggle of the Wardens— it is only the sounding of the horn before battle. All the world will feel it. And there are many who will need you.” He felt a crackle as his magic discharged and she drew back slightly, but did not draw her weapon. Her eyes widened as the fire slithered gold and red armies marching through the deep roads, spilling up into the sparks and around them the distant song of lyrium echoed.

She shook her head slightly to shake herself loose. “I don’t even know what you are. Or what you want.”  
He smiled, remembering the words of his old friend. “I am offering my friendship. A place to retreat if you are in trouble. What you are doing for your people is enough. I require nothing else.”  
“You know that I will speak to the Inquisitor about you,” she said.  
“I know. I would ask—” he stopped. Set the glass of wine down with a slow breath. “I would ask you not to mention that I was here, if it can be avoided. Ask her what you must, but do not offer. Please.”  
She started to shake her head.

“If she is moving on, if she is putting me out of her mind— I would not open the wound again. Please, let her have her peace.”  
Warden Brosca sighed. “As you wish. But from what Rainier tells me, neither of you is likely to move on. It is easy to love someone while the world is ending, Master Solas. When there is a time limit, it does not much matter what comes afterward. But that is where the true test lies. Day in and day out, negotiating and bargaining, joy and sorrow— I ran from my test. Do not make my mistake.”  
He did not tell her he’d never have the chance to fail it.


	78. Seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmnDXRJ7btE

He did not linger at Weisshaupt. It had proven a useless journey, but he found himself in the midst of a forced idleness as his spells worked their way through the amulet he was building. There remained the matter of the anchor, and he paused in the Crossroads only to pass a vial of Brosca’s potion to one of his agents. He hoped the Inquisitor would find something useful in it, though he believed the progress depressingly slow.   
“Tell her it is from Warden Brosca,” he said, handing the carefully wrapped glass to the agent. “Don’t let her know it passed through my hands, if you can avoid it. It should be a simpler task now, with the spymistress departed.”  
The agent nodded. “I have something for you, as well. Loranil left it. He found it in the Greatwood.” She handed him a strange box that glittered with veilfire. He thanked her and passed on to Falon’din’s temple. The box was heavy in his hand, awkward on the long broken path to the tower. He did not stop to put it into his pack, comforted by the warm, smooth wood, the weight and rattle of it.   
Falon’din’s tower was a thin spire, achingly white where Dirthamen’s had been wide and dark. Solas remembered how the colored glass of its windows glinted and shone like a beacon in the sun. The glass was gone now, shattered in dusty piles on the foundation stones. The temple was a time-eaten bone, the wind playing a mourning song through the empty arches and the flap of a hundred birds startled by his entrance. But the light of it remained. Harsh and unforgiving. There was ancient blood upon the alter, dark and startling. It turned Solas’s stomach and he hurried up the broken steps toward the upper levels to put it behind him. The library sat at the peak, its thin shell walls translucent where they were not pierced by an empty window. The spring air was warm and swallows darted between the arches, settling at last upon the shoulders of Falon’din’s many statues. Solas ignored them, sitting on the top step and placing the box in his lap.  
He ran his fingers over the shimmering letters, but did not illuminate them. Instead, he lifted the lid. Inside was the letter he’d been expecting and a thin, beaten metal mask. He remembered it. The Empress of Orlais had sent the mask maker after Adamant. A gift the Inquisitor had not wished for. But Vivienne had insisted it was a high honor, the equivalent of being formally recognized in Orlesian society. Not something she could refuse without insult. Why had she sent it to him?  
He unfolded the letter, feeling again, the soft brush of her spells giving way as he did. 

Emma lath,

You told me once, that were I without title, without an army, without the anchor, you would love me even so. I hope that is true. 

Vivienne leaves today, with the mages who wish to join her. We’ve brought her to Montsimmard. She wishes to restore the Circles. I cannot agree with her, and so our parting has not been an easy one. I know she will be kinder than the stories I have heard of the Mage Circles, and the Templars no longer have the iron grip they once wielded, but I cannot imagine locking myself away from the world as she does. Nor accepting that my magic is an evil. Especially not after you. 

Orlais is calm, it seems. With the new Divine and now Vivienne to offset the throne, the squabbling in Val Royeaux has dwindled to petty matters and social posturing. They do not need the Inquisition any longer. And for that, I am grateful. One step closer to you. I send you the mask because I do not wish to wear any. I am tired of hiding my face, of pretending at what I am not. How much more tired you must be, my love. 

I wish, you too, could throw your mask away. Perhaps when we next meet, it will be gone for good.

Ar lath ma.

The metal warmed under his hand as he held it, touched the familiar shape of her brow, her nose, her cheeks. It was not enough. As the Fade was not enough. As the memories were not enough. A shadow, only, of what he had once had. Some clumsy artist’s version of her, who would never touch her as he had. Who would never see beyond the shell of her flesh. He put it back into the box and closed the lid. He called veilfire to his palm and the writing leaped out at him. “Seen” it said.

She was standing in front of the mirror just outside the baths. She hadn’t noticed him, staring at the copper mask that covered her instead.  
“I thought you long asleep,” he said, and she’d jumped. “I would have sought you out sooner, had I known.”  
She smiled at the reflection of him and shook her head. “I only finished with the Orlesian delegation a few moments ago. I— did not mean to linger here.”  
He closed the distance, brushing against her back. “It is a fine mask,” he offered, though he wished it was not hiding her from him.  
She frowned. “It is a mask.” She fingered the tip of one ear. “One of the ladies told me I ought to have my ears cropped. Cropped. As if I were a mabari. She even offered the use of her surgeon to do it. Said that with the mask to cover my vallaslin and rounded ears, I could accomplish great things.”  
“Neither your ears nor your vallaslin have prevented you thus far,” he said, uncertain whether she sought his approval or his anger. He knew which he felt at the suggestion.  
“I thought— I thought this, all of this, the Inquisition— I thought it would make them see. I thought they would understand, after, that we cared what happened in this world. That we were good. That we hurt and want and fear, just like the humans. Instead—” She touched the copper plate that bent around her face. “They only want to make me look like them. They don’t want to remember it was an elf that sealed the Breach. As if all that separated us was flesh and cartilage. As if it did not color how I see the world, how I speak, where I go, how I move through it. As if I would not cringe at every guard in the dark if only my ears were round and my face were bare.” Her voice wavered and he felt a deep roar of rage at the men in Halamshiral, wishing he had done more, done worse to the guard who’d dared to touch her. But it was anger that she did not need. He tugged at the dark silk ribbon that tied the mask instead, unraveling its knot.  
“There are some who will make themselves blind to anything that does not match what they believe,” he said, pulling the mask from her skin. The silk liner was dark and damp from her sweat. He dropped it onto a nearby table. “You cannot make them see what they do not wish to.” He tilted her head slightly, bending to kiss the edge of her ear. “But I see you.” He watched her close her eyes in the mirror and the memory sent a pulse of her love through him. He’d traced the vallaslin, wiping away the beaded, cooling sweat from her face. “Your form and face are lovely. I see you as you are.” He turned her toward him. “But the flame inside the flesh— that woman will never notice it. She will never realize what I do. Your life has shaped that flame, just as it has left its mark upon your skin. Your spirit is so beautiful, my love, and utterly Elvhen. I _see_ you. You are blindingly brilliant and warm and kind.” He pressed his lips to her brow, her palm, her own lips. “I see you,” he repeated softly. “I _see_ you.”  
A surge of deep gratitude and love pushed into him from her, even as the memory faded. Solas sat long and silent in the bright tower. If only he’d stayed as blind as the Orlesian woman who had insulted her. If only she’d found another who would see her as she truly was, to love her as the world crumbled around them. To stay. He looked around at the dead, rotting library around him. Why had he come? Why did he remain apart from her?   
The tower shook and rumbled as he tested a spell. His strength had returned. He could keep her in Skyhold. They could last years. Against the Evanuris, surely. Against the tide of Blight that would sweep the world, even. He could let it go. His plan would likely fail anyway. It always did. Mythal would ignore his warning, have him killed, and that other world would repeat the suffering of this one and die again. This was only pointless torture. He stood up to go, but a familiar face appeared at the bend in the stairs.  
“How long have you followed me?” he asked, tensing.  
“I have not. It is only coincidence that we have met,” said Abelas, climbing the steps toward him. “I have been wandering the old paths, looking for others. I hoped that some might remain, like me, in the old temples. But you, Fen’harel, are the first I have found.”   
Solas relaxed, stepping aside from the landing to allow Abelas to join him. The Sentinel looked around at the empty library. “I think, now, it would have been best if we had not remained either. I’ve waited centuries for Mythal. Served her faithfully long after I was freed. But she is gone from this world and none now remember her as she was.”  
“I remember,” said Solas.  
“Then perhaps you remember what all of it was for. For I do not.” He bent to look behind one of the tall statues. “But where is the Inquisitor? I saw no other as I entered.”  
“She is not here.”  
Abelas stared at him in surprise. “You are less cautious than Elgar’nan then. He did not allow his consort out of sight for centuries after he gifted her with his mark.” He paused. “Or perhaps you have a plan already in play? Does she go to wake the others?”  
“The anchor was a mistake.”  
“She has proven untrue?”  
“Never,” snapped Solas. “But the anchor was not given by me. And it eats away at her. I am here to find a way to remove it.”  
“Even the Elvhen could not bear the mark of an Evanuris for long,” said Abelas, shaking his head. “Your Inquisitor has proven strong, but she is not of us. Don’t you remember what happened to Elgar’nan’s slave?”  
“No. I had little time for his people when they did not seek me out,” said Solas.  
“Ah. Yes. I recall the last time you left Mythal’s temple.” He put a heavy hand on Solas’s shoulder. “He kept her alive as long as he was able, but it was misery in the end. He carved her apart, piece by piece to slow the spread of his power. Her fingers, her hand, her arm, her breast, until his magic ate its way finally to her heart and consumed her from within. I assumed you knew the price and found it acceptable. Am I to understand that she was not part of your purpose?”  
“She was never meant to be. None of them were. And yet, without her, my plans were incomplete.”  
“What is it you intend?”  
Solas looked at him for a long moment. “I do not yet know whether I should trust you with that.”  
Abelas dropped his arm and crossed them over his chest. “Who shall I betray you to? There are none now who would hear. Except for the handful that scattered from Mythal’s temple, we are the very last of our kind. There is little opportunity for my loyalties to change.”  
He considered the man before him. Abelas would be an ear, at least, someone to speak to when all others were frightened to. And he would keep Solas true to his purpose. Already, he had wavered. He knew, alone, he would not last much longer. He needed an ally. Someone who understood what he tried to do. _Someone to take your place?_ The thought was seductive. More than any other. Solas resisted but did not push it utterly away. “Come,” he said at last, crossing to the large stone benches beneath the tower windows. “We have much to speak of.”


	79. Abelas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXzKsWBzQsE&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=52

“Give me command of your army,” said Abelas. The sun had long set while Solas told his tale, and Falon’din’s temple glowed around them with a pale witch-light that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. Solas could barely see his face across the table, but his tone was unmistakable.  
“It is unnecessary. There are many who—”  
“I have _earned_ this,” hissed Abelas, leaning toward him. “Two thousand years and more I’ve served Mythal. Faithfully. It was _my_ Sentinels, my kin who were slain over and over. The Forgotten Ones, the Evanuris, the Shemlen, the darkspawn, we stood against them all. Waiting. And now, vengeance comes, Mythal wrapped in wolf-suit and testing me with lies. I _feel_ her, Fen’harel, I know what you carry. This task is _mine_.”  
Solas leaned back in his seat. “The people that I’ve gathered are not Sentinels, Abelas. They are downtrodden. Slaves and abused servants. Violated and outcast. Clanless and hopeless. Our own people are few. It will not be the army you expect.”

  
A flame sizzled in Abelas’s hand. He tipped it into the lantern between them. “A year ago, I would have believed that,” he said. “I would have deemed them little more than fennecs, sly and low and cringing. Few wandered close enough to prove me mistaken. But that was before the Inquisition. Before I met your Inquisitor’s people. Before I witnessed you claim her as part of us. I thought you mad, even as I indulged you.”  
Sadness chased anger through him at the man’s words. Had he not told himself the same, many times? Abelas continued. “I did not stay at the temple. I could not wait in that prison a moment longer. My purpose was gone, all I’d suffered to protect was destroyed. But your words— I found myself back in the world. In the company of the Shemlen, though I tried to avoid them. No matter how far I traveled, the name of the Inquisitor was on the lips of every person. Her battle with the Tevinter was long over by the time I heard of it. Ah, how I wish I had traveled with you now. That would have been a worthy sight. But I heard the tales. Even after cutting away the embellishment, even with you by her side, it was a mighty thing.”

“It was a _close_ thing,” said Solas.

“Yet they did not falter, these allies of yours. They’ve already faced a would-be god. They will be ready to face another. These are not the cowering rodents I believed. They are worthy combatants.”  
“I did not recruit the Inquisition. Indeed, many of them would not understand. They would not be on our side,” said Solas.  
“That is unfortunate. But they cannot be the only people who can learn to fight. You have no time to train them properly. Not for this. I’m certain you have found capable warriors in your travels, but they are not like us. If you want them to fight like Sentinels, then you need someone who knows what that means. You need someone who knows what we’ve lost. These people do not know the Evanuris. You and Mythal— you have never been like the others. Even in battle you hold back. They will not. Your army has no preparation for this. I can change that.”

He hesitated and Abelas stood up, his fists slamming into the desk. “I was _there_ , Solas, when you were not. It was not only Mythal who suffered that day. Sylaise picked the most vulnerable. The most likely to cry out for aid. And we watched as Elgar’nan tortured them, one after another. Hours and hours. Do you know the sound a child makes as it is slowly peeled from the Fade, killed from the inside out? I do. It is familiar to me now. One by one, everyone I loved was ripped from me. And still Mythal stood silent. We did our best to follow suit. We knew what we protected as well as you did. We knew what terrors the Evanuris could inflict with the spear of red fire. This world may die when you release the Fade. But I will not see the Evanuris twist the taint to suit them. I will not see its last days hand a triumph to our enemies. Give me this. I am Mythal’s hand of vengeance. Give me the power to do this, in _her_ name, if you will not do it in your own. You cannot deny my petition is just.”

“Very well. I will give you what aid I can, but my own war takes me far from here. I wish to prevent it from occurring at all. I will not be at your side at the end.”  
Abelas sunk back into his seat. “I know,” he said, his voice sinking to a low murmur. He traced the edge of the Inquisitor’s box near Solas’s hand. “And I can offer you a gift, Solas. One that no one else will dare to.” He glanced up, catching Solas’s gaze. “I will not let the taint touch her. When it happens, when the Blight closes in and we have fought our last— I will do what you cannot. I will act in your stead. She will not become one of those soulless twisted husks. Swift and without pain. When she asks, I will do this for you.”  
“How did you—” Solas cried out.

Abelas shook his head and slid the box toward him. “You are not the only one who has found love in the dying days of a world. You and she— are an echo of a song I never expected to hear again. One I strangled long ago. I can prevent that pain, at least.” He stopped and sighed. “I was kind once,” he said at last, “But I am too old to care, much, what happens to this world.” He looked around at the ruins, and his eyes glittered with unspent tears. “It seems a footprint left behind. The cloud of breath that hangs in the winter air after someone has passed by. The burnt chaff of a once fertile field.”  
“There is life, still, among the ruins,” said Solas. “Things that remain and new things that thrive.”  
Abelas turned back to him. “Were you not what you are, that might bring me hope. But knowing what comes— it is all the more tragic.” He waved a hand, plunging them back into darkness. “Take me to your forces. I wish to meet them. And walk the battlefield.”

The forces that camped in the Arlathan forest were still small, relying on stealth and the ancient Tevinter superstition to guard them. But Abelas did not seem disappointed. Simple birdcalls followed in their wake and the trees rustled around them until they reached the gates of the city. Several dozen elves dropped silently from the branches around them and waited. Solas concentrated on the wards, unwinding them one by one as they watched. They were powerful. He was surprised to find that Wisdom had created them to open only for him. Even Mythal would have been stymied if she had not had his aid. A deep gratitude warred with grief in him for his friend. It felt like ending an old argument, opening the city. It felt like the final words of a lost conversation. One that they would never have a chance to finish.

He had not brought his people this far before. But with Abelas to lead them, the time was right. The city would be safe, the seal Wisdom had replaced would be guarded. They would be left in peace to prepare. He finished and the gates glowed. An old man walked up beside him to touch them. Solas watched him as he reached out slowly, holding a breath as he pressed his fingertips to the rock. He turned to Solas. “My whole life,” he said, “Every night I’ve dreamed of this place. Every day I’ve searched for it.”

Solas looked at the gates, feeling the weight of a thousand years of absence all at once. “So have I,” he said, “And we are here at last.” The man squeezed his arm and stepped forward with a laugh. Solas felt like weeping. He glanced over at Abelas and saw the troubled expression on his face. He was not alone.  
“Alas,” said Abelas quietly. “I have never longed for home more. And I have never been farther from it. I did not expect to feel this way again.”  
“It will be restored,” said Solas, but Abelas shook his head.  
“Not for me,” he said, and stepped inside.

“The Blight still lingers in the dust and stone,” said Abelas, kneeling at the boundary of Andruil’s land. They had left the others behind to explore the city. Some primal instinct kept any but them from wandering into the diseased plain. Solas jumped down from the broken owl at the gate. Black dust plumed in his wake as he landed.  
“Yes. The titan is still buried beneath. It will never be whole again. This ground will never bear fruit. Arlathan cannot support our forces for long. We must rely on hunting in the forest for now. That is why I have not yet called all of them together.”  
“How many?” Abelas wiped away the tainted dust from his hand with a look of disgust.  
“Ten thousand at last count. It will grow.”  
“It must. We cannot defeat the Evanuris with so few. The Sentinels will come, but we number less than three hundred now.”  
Solas shook his head. “I would not ask more of them.”  
“We are bound to Mythal, until our deaths. Now you speak her will, so they will come.”  
“I release you.”  
Abelas laughed. “That is something beyond even _your_ power, Fen’harel. She did not require our service, it was we who pledged it. You, too, swore an oath of loyalty to her, did you not?”  
“Yes.”  
“Did you swear it as a slave to a master?”  
“No. As a friend to another.”  
“As did we. They will come.”

Solas walked toward the temple.  
“Do they know?” called Abelas. Solas turned and squinted into the afternoon sun that haloed his figure. “Do they know what is coming? What you are truly asking?”  
“They know. I do not want blind followers. I would be no better than the others.”  
“Why then? Why do they stay with you, knowing the end? It cannot be for the same reasons as ours. They cannot know the rage and pain of centuries.”  
“They do. Passed down from parent to child. A thousand years of servitude and war and poverty. They have as much pain as you or I. It is just turned in another direction. They stay because they want to be reminded of their own power. That they are strong. That they, too, can be heroic and— and good. That is what the Inquisitor would say, if she—” he broke off and shook his head. “Come, the light will be gone soon, and I wish to inspect the seal.”

Abelas caught up, his footsteps keeping the quick pace of Solas’s own. “Will she come?” he asked as they crossed into the courtyard of jade. “Will she aid us?”  
“If she survives, she will try.”  
“And the others with her?”  
He sighed. “The others do not know of this place. They think it’s a myth. That the Veil is something natural. That the Blight is defeated and the Evanuris a set of quaint Dalish customs.”  
“Surely she will warn them,” said Abelas.  
Solas turned to him. “Would you?” he asked. “Knowing how it must end, would you tell them?”  
“She shed blood with them. She will tell them.”

He nodded and climbed the stone steps. “Perhaps. I fear for her, if she does. History has not proven kind to messengers bearing tidings of war.”  
They stood in the cool dark of the temple, the massive stone seal pulsed with power, glowing with veilfire. Abelas circled it slowly. He crouched to trace a jagged crack on the face of the carving. “She will come. Alone or many. My Sentinels will come. The wildlings and the broken that you call. They will all come. And we shall be the wrath and thunder. The taint shall burn beneath our gaze. And we will bring winged death to the Evanuris.” He looked up to where Solas stood across the seal from him. “Stay,” he said. “It is a better death, at our side. Become the Dread Wolf again.”  
“I cannot. Not while there is a chance to save them all.”  
Abelas scowled. “Save them for what? To be eternal slaves? To die in the endless war? You have made grave mistakes, Fen’harel, but you _did_ set them free. I am not blind. I’ve devoted my life to Mythal, all of my breaths have been spent defending what she thought precious. But I know she would never have moved against the others. She would never have freed the Elvhen. Only you could. And where you go— you will perish before you can free them. The Elvhen _will_ fall in that other world. Someday. But it will be bloody and costly. They will fight to the last man. Stay. You could do more here—”  
“No,” growled Solas. His magic surged and prickled with his anger, but he pushed it down. “Do not ask again.” He turned and left the temple.


	80. Alas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxjvNUNXhkU&index=53&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

The amulet was ready for the next layer of spells and he left Arlathan shortly after Abelas had moved the permanent camp to Andruil’s temple. It was a relief to be away, though Solas pretended to himself that it was only his anxiousness to return to work and not the wounded, barren land he left behind him, or the Sentinel’s ceaseless questioning. He didn’t notice the loneliness of Dirthamen’s temple again for several days. The spells were intricate, requiring all of his focus and memory of Dorian’s notes.

  
It was high summer, the fields beyond the temple shimmered with heat and rang with sparrow song, but the temple remained icy and still. Solas had not even glimpsed the sun in over a week. He sat, dazed and achy, after finishing a particularly draining piece of the spellwork. In the morning, he knew, the quiet would hit him. Idleness would undo him again. He looked up as the sound of footsteps rang against the dark stone. Loranil crossed the large hall and Solas felt a sharp pain in his chest, realizing that he had not thought of the Inquisitor often in the past days, that he was becoming accustomed to missing her. The wound was no longer fresh. A glimpse of her face, an echo of her voice, he knew that was all it would require to throw him back to that first night he had parted from her. He struggled not to reach for that ache as quickly as he longed to. He rose but folded his hands behind his back to prevent himself from reaching for the scroll case Loranil was carrying at his side.

“I— Ir abelas,” said Loranil, “The Inquisition has been away from Skyhold for weeks. This was the soonest I could come.”  
Solas nodded. “More diplomatic missions?”  
“No. Not exactly. The Inquisitor— she has descended into an obsession with the Blight. But she makes no progress. She doesn’t eat, she sleeps rarely. Sends ravens out at all hours looking for any document that will help her find a cure. Commander Cullen became worried. He sent her to the Frostback Basin. There was a researcher there looking for the previous Inquisitor’s remains. The Commander thought it would be a good distraction. A way to shake her back to her old self. But—”  
“But?”  
Loranil turned the scroll case between his fingers and did not look at him. “She is worse. I don’t know what truly happened within the old Hakkonite fortress— they have all refused to speak of it, even Master Tethras. Rumors abound. That she met the old Inquisitor himself, that she saw only a reflection of herself instead of the Inquisitor’s remains, that she fought an old god. She was— quiet on the journey back, but I thought her only deep in thought.”  
“She’s said nothing about it?” asked Solas.  
“She sat with me once, during my watch. She asked me if my clan had any stories about corrupted dragons. That was all. Never another word except to Master Pavus.”

_Dragons?_ “What was your answer?” he asked aloud.  
Loranil blushed. “They are old superstitions. I know the truth now.”  
“That is what you told _her_ or that is what you wish me to believe of you?”  
“I told her— I told her the things my grandmother used to whisper to me when she believed my parents weren’t listening. The things Keeper Hawen frowned upon or laughed at. I told her of the old legends of the Forgotten Ones. How they would sometimes shed their elf forms and go to battle as dragons. She sent a request for literature on archdemons and Tevinter’s old gods as soon as we returned.”  
“That does not sound worse than before.”  
“No, it wasn’t. Not until the dawn lotus began blooming.” He held out the scroll case. Solas reached for it, but Loranil held on. “The other ones, the ones she left at the amplifiers— I think she was hoping you’d find them. I think she left them hoping you would eventually seek out the amplifiers. This one— she buried it in the rubble near Skyhold. The pile of stones that was once a wolf statue. I don’t think she wanted anyone to know.”  
“Is your loyalty wavering?” asked Solas sharply.

Loranil released the scroll and drew back in shock. “No. I was not aware that there was a divide between you. I thought— I believed you were allies. I am devoted to your cause, as ever.”  
“Good. I want every piece she leaves in her wake. Every scrap—”  
The boy shook his head, the hurt and betrayal plain on his face. “But that is not why I joined you. I am capable of more than just minding a woman in a fortress—”

Ice crackled along the edge of the stone table, feathering from Solas’s hand in rapid crystals. Loranil took a step back and Solas took a deep breath to steady himself. “I know it seems I ask for something trivial. Something personal when you wish to be with the others, training for battle and claiming glory in the Black City itself. I will grant that I have a personal interest in the Inquisitor’s welfare. But this is not a trivial task. She does not require minding. But I would give her whatever aid I can. Do you understand why she drives herself to the edge of collapse in the Undercroft? Why she leaps from red lyrium to dragons to Tevinter religion?”  
Loranil blushed with shame. “I assumed as her companions did,” he said, “that the battle with Corypheus has taken a dire toll on her mind. Or— or _you_ had.”

The accusation stung. As if she were another soul claimed by the Dread Wolf. As if he’d used her up and left only a mad shell behind. _Haven’t I?_ he asked himself. “She is not insane. She is my last— _our_ last hope. She is searching for another way. A search I had long abandoned as fruitless. You are young, Loranil. Your idea of war is still colored by legend and by what you have seen the Inquisition do. But this war will not be glorious. It will not be honorable or noble. _This_ war is one of survival. Of dirt and blood and stink. Of exhaustion and despair and, yes, madness. It is a war of survival. And without her, and others like her, it will be one of utter defeat. She is already fighting. You are not a minder of wayward children. You are a scout passing battle orders between generals.”  
“Then why do you never pass them back?” shouted Loranil. His voice echoed over the room.  
“Because I have no answers for her. Not yet.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and tried to keep his voice gentle. “If you value this world, if you truly wish us to be restored, don’t desert her. There will be battle enough for all. But glory— that will only come if she succeeds where I have so often failed.”

Loranil nodded and stumbled away, running for the eluvian, frightened by his own daring. Solas sank back into his seat and turned the scroll case over and over in his hand. Whatever was inside would trouble him, he knew. She would not have hidden it from him otherwise. It was a purge. Another hole in the dam. He could put it away. Stay in relative peace, where the ache for her was low and constant thunder. He knew the next thing he received from her would be cheerful and sweet. And inevitable. He could wait and pretend that all was well. Something sane in him urged him not to open the case, to lay it aside, let it roll beneath one of the dark bookshelves and stay forgotten. His fingers shook as he uncorked the case and tipped it carefully onto the table.

The dry petals had lost none of their sweet smell, fluttering like snow onto the dark stone. He closed his eyes a moment and let the scent fill up his mind. All the memories of it were bitter. Even the last, standing on the chilly bank of the river rigid with rage as she tried to make him see the beauty around him. He wondered if it was that day that stuck in her mind. That pain that had made her hide the dawn lotus in the shattered rubble. The scroll was brittle, cracking under his touch, as if it had been many times wet and dried. He did not dare to open if fully, uncurling just enough to see the glitter of veilfire.

Alas, the dawn lotus returns and you do not. I have failed you.

He was drowning in the heavy, sweet smell. And sorrow, such sorrow. He sobbed without knowing as he fell deeper into the memory. A sea of blinding white stars spread over the dark of the river, swaying in the current. The moon hung over the mountains and the crickets were almost deafening, but he could not notice. He struggled against the pull of the memory, trying to ground himself back in his own mind. He could bear no more, though the memory was incomplete. How much she hid from him, even when she could not be certain he would find the other tokens she had left. He shoved the scroll away as if it seared his hand. A petal clung to his wrist. He pulled it off and it burst into a flash of flame and was gone. He immediately regretted it and gathered the others carefully, one by one, sliding them back into the case. He picked up the fragile scroll again, wincing as a corner crumbled away. The memory had drained what little strength that remained after the long spellwork. He rose unsteadily and stumbled to the narrow shelf that housed his bedroll. His fingers still curled around the dry paper as he slipped into the Fade.


	81. Next Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMVrViMFeuc&index=54&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“Don’t,” said Cole, blocking his path. “It won’t make you happy.”  
“I know. But perhaps I can bring her some peace. Take away the guilt she does not deserve.” Solas stepped around him.  
“I’ve tried,” said Cole.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Then _stop_. Come back. Or— steal her. I will help. I’ll make them all forget.” The boy appeared before him again. Solas sighed.  
“No, Cole. That would be disastrous. And a violation. She is not something to be stolen.”  
“It would make her happy.”  
“It would undo all she’s worked so hard for. Orlais would crumble. Her clan would be exiled from Wycome or killed. The mages would be shoved back into Circles and Templars redouble their lyrium dependence. Elves would be blamed for all of it. The brief joy that both of us would have would sour. This is kinder.”  
“For who?”  
“For us all.”  
Cole shook his head sadly. “Then why do you keep returning? If you will not stay, why can’t you let her go?”  
“I wish I knew.” He gave the boy a small push and Cole disappeared. He stepped into the Inquisitor’s dream.

  
Skyhold’s throne room was ruddy with evening sun, but it was very wrong. The flagstone floor had been replaced with dark water. A thousand dawn lotuses floated atop, gleaming like bloody bone in the red light. The Inquisitor was on her knees before the throne and Morrigan sat above her. Solas took a step forward and sank into the water.

“You should not be here,” snapped Cole. He floated above the water, untouched by the crushing weight that was sucking Solas deeper.  
“Why Morrigan?” he asked. He concentrated a moment on reshaping the dream so he could at least walk.  
“She is Mythal’s daughter. The remaining justice in the world.”  
“She is a _pretender_. A fool,” hissed Solas. “She has no right to judge the Inquisitor.”  
“What _you_ believe does not matter here, Solas. It is not your dream. This is how the Inquisitor sees her. How she’s seen her since they met Mythal in the mirror. You should—” He fell silent and turned toward the others as Morrigan’s voice rang through the hall.

“You have failed, Inquisitor.”  
Solas sloshed forward. The Inquisitor didn’t even lift her head.  
“There is no denying your guilt. It sits before me. It stains your very skin.” Morrigan lifted her hand and the Inquisitor rose with a low groan, lifted from her knees and then her feet to hover at the level of the throne. Her skin was a web of ruby lines that pulsed with light. He was horrified to realize that the glow he’d thought was the setting sun, was her.

_Is she truly infected?_

“No,” said Cole softly. “It is only the dream. She will realize it when she wakes. You should go, before she notices.”  
“I can’t leave her mind in this agony—” He stopped because Morrigan was speaking again.

“There is only the matter of your sentence, Inquisitor. What would Solas say if he could see how you’ve failed him?”  
He stepped back in shock. Cole clutched his head. “Too late,” the boy whispered. But the Inquisitor still gave no answer. She did not turn to look at him. She was limp as a child’s doll, still hanging in the air.  
“Why doesn’t she fight back?” he murmured.  
“You think she no longer believes in the Pantheon. That you scrubbed them out like the stain on the stone shingles. But she believes in what they stood for, still. The petition, the punishment is justice in her mind.”

“Give her to me,” he demanded.  
Morrigan turned to look at him. “What would you do with her?”  
“It is my concern. I am the wronged party, am I not? Give her to me. The old rites should be followed.”  
“Very well.” Morrigan flicked her hand and the Inquisitor dropped with a splash into the water.

He dove in after her, plunging through deep, chilled stillness, the dawn lotus fading above him into distant stars.  
She was below him, struggling to reach him, come suddenly alive. He could see the piercing beam of emerald from the anchor, could hear the thrash of her legs as she kicked upward. He folded the Fade and caught her. They were no longer in water, standing now in the rotunda. The dream was too erratic to be intentional. She was not in control, likely not even aware that it was a dream. But he had been fooled before. He would take care this time. Never give her a reason to suspect it was really him, if he could help it. She had been bruised enough already.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped.  
“For what, Vhenan? What has caused such sorrow?” He smoothed her cheek with his thumb, pulling the traces of Blight from her skin without her noticing. She hesitated.  
“I don’t know,” she said at last.  
He forced a laugh. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”  
She frowned. “There must be— I’m so— it hurts. I’ve done something wrong.”

He searched for something that would lessen the feeling. “Do you mean the incident with the ghoul’s beard powder? I’ve long forgiven you. And I always thought it more Sera’s idea than yours.”  
The edge of her mouth lifted, but it was gone before she could relax into a real smile. “No. Something far worse.”  
“There is nothing I would not forgive you for,” he said, but her gaze was caught on something above his shoulder.

A dawn lotus floated down from the roof, twirling lazily through the air. “That was it,” she said and her expression darkened again. “The dawn lotus have bloomed and you— you’re _gone_.”  
“I’m here,” he said. She kissed him, but it was sad and trembling.  
“You _aren’t_ ,” she whispered. “You’re not real. I’ve failed him. Over and over.” She pushed against him, but he resisted, just a little. He caught the blossom before it could drop to the floor. He bit back the urge to tell her the truth. Not that one, anyway.

“It is not the last time they will bloom, my love,” he said, winding it into her hair. “Everything returns if we are patient enough. Dawn lotus and seasons, spirits and love, again and again.”  
“ _You_ will not. Nor I. Nor all the world.”  
“We will. And I will meet you again for the first time. And kiss you again for the first time. And hear my name on your lips again.” He tipped his forehead to hers. “Again and again and again. One thing, only, will alter.”  
“What is that?” she asked, threading her fingers between his.  
“Next time, I will do so much better. Next time I will have the power to make you happy.”  
“You already _do_ ,” she whispered, and then she was gone. The rotunda dissolved around him.


	82. Accomplice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQksqVL8zSw

“No!” cried Solas, extinguishing the flame with a swish of his hand. “You must not hesitate, lethallin. It must become second nature to you. They will show you no mercy. You would be dead before the spell left your lips.”  
The boy cringed and pulled his hand back to his chest. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to harm you. In the Circle—”  
Solas shook his head, but lowered his voice. “This is not the Circle, Ilan. The Evanuris will not wait politely for their turn at attacking or allow you time to strengthen your barrier. I have seen many battles, you do not need to concern yourself for my health. If you hurt me, it would be my fault.” He stopped, the boy looked miserable. “My energy is depleted,” lied Solas, “I require a rest. Shall we try again tomorrow?”  
The boy offered him a bow. Solas frowned, but swallowed it as he rose again. “You improve with every trial,” said Solas. “It will not be long before your fear for me is warranted.”  
Ilan smiled and Solas sent him to the kitchens for a meal.

“You are too easy on them,” said Abelas, crossing the courtyard.   
“They have time,” he answered, watching the boy’s shadow diminish in the afternoon sun.  
“He will not thank you for your kindness when Sylaise’s flames are consuming him.”  
Solas turned toward him. “He will not thank me for harshness, either. They _will_ die in this battle, Abelas. Shall I fill their last days with disappointment and terror?”  
Abelas huffed. “You should fill them with purpose and resolve. We will all fall, yes, but I would not see our task undone. The way we die matters.”  
“I cannot fault you for thinking so. I had come to the same conclusion.” He leaned upon his staff, his fingers lingering over the shard of orb he had fixed there. “You are right, of course. The way we die matters. So does the way we live. The Evanuris will fall, one way or another. There is no triumph left for them. But these people— there are days of comfort and peace remaining for them. For you, as well, if you would take them.”   
“But not for you?” he asked sharply.  
“I have taken mine. They are behind me and sustain me in this last push. I have had centuries to prepare. I will not fail.”

“And how long do the rest of us have?”  
Solas sighed. “Never long enough. I will wait as long as I may, but it is not up to me. It depends upon the Inquisitor.” He held up a hand to stop the protest that was already tumbling from Abelas. “It’s not to save her. My feelings have no impact on it. She continues to strengthen the Veil by closing remaining rifts and activating the ancient amplifiers. But the anchor is spreading. Unless I find a means to halt its growth, she will not be able to complete the task, and the Veil will fall without my aid. If she can endure until the last amplifier, then we may choose our moment. Perhaps. The Veil will dissolve in one instant instead of crumbling in several places.”  
“Then perhaps you should travel to Elgar’nan’s eastern monument. It is there that he kept Isevun. She lasted the longest of any who carried an Evanuris’s power. If anything remains, it will be there.” Abelas did not wait for an answer. He headed back toward the training yards and called back over his shoulder, “I will have the reports sent to you there. I sent another to scout it weeks ago. She will be ready to assist you.”

The light had gone out of Elgar’nan’s eyes. How long ago, Solas was uncertain. Perhaps as far back as the Veil. Perhaps when Tevinter sacked it and forced thousands of slaves to scrape the lyrium from his stone sockets. Either way, the statue was a dead, dark thing. Rooks nested in his roaring mouth and a thousand years of rain and wind had melted his features into slumped jumble of rock between the mountains. Solas could not help the sorrow he felt at seeing the ruin. The battle against the titan had been folly, a waste of thousands of lives. The statue had been more foolish still. Yet it was something of his youth, something that many had labored over and bled for. He could not deny the ache he felt at its deterioration. He pressed it away as well as he could and picked his way through the fallen boulders to the entrance at Elgar’nan’s feet.

He was surprised to find the interior swept clean and blazing with light. The lamps were filled and trimmed, the gold paving stones neatly repaired and the smell of burning embrium hanging rich and heavy in the air. He wandered through the long corridors and up the steps until he found a large library. A shriveled figure sat cross-legged next to the hearth, though the August heat was oppressive. It looked up as he entered and Solas recognized the woman who had led him through Mythal’s temple. 

“What brings you here, hahren?” he asked.  
The woman began laughing. “To think I have lived so long that _you_ call me hahren. Yet you are a century older than I. And I remember you being beaten once for stealing sweets for me from the kitchens in this very spot.”  
He bent to look at her. She waited, still laughing.  
“I am not so changed, am I? I think I become more like the child you once knew every year.”  
“Beaten for sweets?” he asked. “That was more common than I care to admit. But only Vhemanen ever begged them of me.”  
She nodded. A hand darted into her pocket and a small wrapped bundle emerged. “I hoped you would come. They were your favorite,” she said and held it out to him. The sweet scent of vandal cakes clung to the cloth. He sat on the hearthstone beside her and unwrapped them.

“I have not tasted one of these in a thousand years,” he said, breaking off a small piece.  
She shrugged. “They will not taste as well as the ones we snuck, but there are few remaining who can bake them.”  
He glanced at her and then away. “I don’t understand. When last I saw you, you had barely begun your apprenticeship.”  
Her smile did not fade, creasing and recreasing the loose skin of her cheeks. “It has been a long time since then, Solas.”  
“But you were— we are _kin_.”  
She patted his knee. “There was not much use for a baker in an empty, ruined temple. Everyone went to sleep. There was no one left to cook for.”  
“But the others— the sentinels, they did not age. _I_ did not age.”  
She shifted and leaned toward the fire. “Your dreams took you out of this world. Out of time. But someone had to remain awake. Someone had to warn the sentinels when danger threatened the temple. Someone had to wait. For Mythal. For you. For the others.”

“Ir abelas, Vhemanen,” he said, and the cake tasted bitter on his lips.  
“Do not be. It has been a good, useful life. Quiet and peaceful and free. I only regret that the others, the people that remain, will not know what is gone. What we did. They have asked, many times. But it was forbidden. I thought— the woman who was at your side, the Inquisitor— I thought you might show her.”  
“Yes. As much as I could. Though I am beginning to think even I had not fully realized what we’ve lost.”  
She nodded. “I was not the first,” she said. “Abelas’s mate went first. I expected him to take my place soon. He would not have endured much longer. I am happy to have been the last. It was difficult, waking up to find our watchers grown older. To find the people we’d known as children wither away with every dawn. I did not wish to witness it any longer. And what good is a baker to those that no longer eat?”  
“How long were you keeping the temple?”  
“Who knows? The years never meant much before Mythal died and there was no reason to track them while I watched. One more, one less, what does it matter?”  
“And all that time— no one was with you?”  
“There were three of us until a few years ago. If we were alone and we should fall without waking the others— we were meant to wake the next in line should one of us die during our watch. But the others could not stand the waiting any longer. First Tara’man just after the last awakening. Then Eirlai a few winters ago. I ought to have woken others, especially at my age, but… I did not believe you were really coming, falon. Not after all this time. I thought maybe it was better to let them sleep.”

He closed a hand around hers. “I am sorry that I arrived so late.”  
“I’m sorry I gave up on you,” she said. She covered the silence with a small laugh. “Abelas was furious when he woke to find me alone. He sent me here to restore the temple as repentance. Has he done the same to you?”  
Solas smiled. “In a way, I suppose. But I cannot say it is a heavy punishment, not when it means I have found my old accomplice again.”  
“It’s an easier price than cleaning the soldier’s bath for a season was,hmm?”  
He laughed. “Ah, but those sugared dates were worth it.”  
“We would not have been caught if you hadn’t gone back for the second handful.”  
“It was not I who tipped June’s wineglass by wriggling under the table.”  
“I was barely to your knee. And you knew better.”  
“You’re right,” he said, “I knew better, da’len. I should have made you wait in the kitchen and snatched the entire bowl.”

“That’s better,” she said. “Now that we are back in our proper roles, what trouble shall we get in falon?”  
His mirth faded and he shook his head. “Your watch is over, Vhemanen. Rest, now. I release you from your task.”  
“And if I do not wish to be released? I do not know how long I have waited for you, but my reflection tells me it was not a brief time. In truth, I am not here because Abelas ordered it. News reached even me in the months since I last saw you. The rest of the world may not know what mark the Inquisitor bears, but I do. And I know what it means. I was very young when Elgar’nan’s magic consumed Isevun, but I remember it. And how furious Mythal was. Both because he gave a mistress that much power and because he allowed it to kill her. I saw what the Inquisitor meant to you, but had I not, I would still be here. We were not ready to face the Evanuris. They would have swept us all away when that Shemlen ripped away the rest of the Veil. She saved us. Someone ought to return the favor.”  
He leaned toward her, his breath catching behind his lips. “Have you found a way?”  
“I have found Elgar’nan’s writings, but nothing of Isevun yet. There are millennia worth of tomes here, not all of them accessible. And my eyes are not what they once were.”  
“Nonsense, da’len. Your eyes are as wicked and bright as the first time I caught you thieving berries.” He kissed her forehead. “If you will bake, then I will clear the rubble.”

They were alone for several weeks. Solas had repaired all but the crown of the shrine, finally moving his work from the darkness of Dirthamen’s library to the dawn-lit chambers of Elgar’nan’s statue. Vhemanen alternated between feeding the stream of agents that arrived and poring over innumerable scrolls. He’d tried to make her rest, but she’d claimed sitting idle would drive her finally into madness and he’d let her do as she pleased. It made him less lonely, hearing her voice through the stairwells, the old songs rising with the sun over the valley. He hoped his presence made her feel the same.

The mornings began to chill and the wind blew leaves in over the threshold. He could hear the brush of her broom below as he read a passage she’d found about Isevun. It was early in the story, too early to help much, but at least they’d found some mention of her. They were getting closer. He got up at the sound of Vhemanen greeting someone. Loranil’s voice floated up the stairs and Solas hurried down to them.

“Apologies,” Loranil said quickly, turning toward him, “I know my report is long past due. I have not had the opportunity to slip away until now. Nor will I likely have another for many months. Not from the Inquisition in any case.”  
“What has happened?”   
“The Inquisitor is traveling. She brought me as far as Denerim and put me on a ship to Wycome. She wished me to bring news to the clans. I could not refuse.”   
“She didn’t return with you?” Solas frowned. He’d expected that she’d visit her clan at the first opportunity.   
“No. She is going to Kirkwall and then Tevinter with Magister Pavus. It’s supposed to be an official visit, but— I think she has other plans. She told Commander Cullen not to expect her until long after the snow. I have leave to stay in Wycome until spring.” He held out a vial of dark liquid wrapped inside a scroll. “This was left in the basement of The Pearl near an amplifier.” Loranil blushed. “Please do not ask me how I came by it. It was meant for you.”  
Solas took it. “Thank you,” he said.

“What shall I do now?” asked Loranil.  
“Do?”  
“I cannot return to Skyhold. And there is nothing but farmers and merchants left in the fortress anyhow. Most of the Inquisition has gone with her.”  
“Go to Wycome. See your family. I will see you after the snow.”  
“But I want to be of use. I joined—”  
“Loranil,” Solas started, but Cole’s plea echoed in his mind and he hesitated. “Your clan needs to know you are well. There is time. We will still be here in the spring.”

He looked doubtful and reluctant. Vhemanen coughed slightly. “We could use a pair of sharp eyes.” She glanced sideways at Solas. “It gets very dark in the winter. My sight gets weak and my reading slow.” She waved a hand toward the long shelves of books behind her. “We have much to do. And I suspect you will be traveling again soon,” she added, turning to Solas. “All this vital knowledge guarded by one ancient crone…”  
Solas felt the twitch of a smile but smothered it.  
“I— I could return here,” said Loranil, “Guard it in your place. The others are busy on their assignments and with Abelas. And the Keeper taught me to read. I don’t know much Elvhen, but I am a quick study—”  
“Be here by First Day, then. I cannot delay my trip,” said Solas sternly. Loranil gave him a quick bow and departed without another word. “Void’s heart, you’re trouble,” Solas grumbled.  
Vhemanen shrugged. “The boy needed to feel important. And I was not wrong. Three pairs of eyes will do the work much faster. Where are you going on First Day?”  
“I have no idea,” said Solas. “Hopefully, something will present itself by then.”  
“You could go to Tevinter,” she said. “I know of someone there who would welcome you.”  
He pressed a hand over his forehead. “If I went, I would never return.”  
“Would that be so bad?”  
“It would be the end of everything.”

She put aside the broom and watched the morning sun slide along the mountaintops. “Abelas tells me that will happen anyway. I have seen the end, Solas. It is not the terror everyone thinks. It’s just the turn of a page. There is more written on the next.” She wiped her eyes with a shaky hand. “Listen to me go on. As if I were not the younger one. And you with a love letter unread in your hand.” She laughed as he stared at her. “Come now, it has not truly been so long since I had them too. I have not seen you run down those stairs that quickly for anything else. Go on, I have honey cakes to make for Ilan, I’ll not interrupt.”


	83. Pranks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJOzdLwvTHA

He broke the scroll’s seal and let the small vial roll into his palm. He set it carefully aside and flattened the parchment, leaning over to bring the veilfire in his palm close. There was no glitter, no soft shimmer or pull upon the paper. No letters shone forth as he passed his hand over the surface. He frowned and flipped it over. Again, the scroll was blank. He glanced at the vial. Perhaps it was there, then. The glass glinted in the light, but there was no writing upon it. Curious, he uncorked it and sniffed the contents carefully. The prickle of the solvent’s scent made him laugh. He knew what this was. 

They’d been whispering above him. He was never certain if Sera had known he could hear them. He suspected so. Cullen had already stomped past with his sleeves rolled up and a saw from the carpentry shop, and the shouts from a few of the nobles as they entered Josephine’s office warned him that Sera was feeling mischievous. He’d been waiting for her to pounce all morning, but she hadn’t appeared. He’d scolded himself into working when he realized she was probably watching him fret. What did she need a prank for? She was already distracting him. 

He gave up trying to anticipate her attack and sat to finish some correspondence when a gale of giggles echoed above. He was surprised to hear the Inquisitor’s familiar laugh mixed in. “Who’s up there?” he called and smiled to himself as footsteps scampered away. But when he turned back to the letter, he’d found the parchment blank. For a moment he thought he’d misplaced it and cast about for where he had set it down. Another distant giggle told him he hadn’t and he stood up abruptly, the chair squealing over the stones. He dashed up the steps, already laughing. 

“Where?” Solas asked Dorian as he ran past.   
“Battlements,” scowled Dorian, trying to twist the frizzled ends of his mustache into their usual smoothness. “Dunk them in the river! My face will never be the same,” he shouted after Solas.   
He could see Sera sprinting toward Cullen’s office, but the Inquisitor was out of sight. He slid through the Fade and tugged a lock of Sera’s hair gently as he caught her. She yelped and her eyes grew large, but she was still laughing.   
“Run Buckles!” she hollered, “He’ll tweak your ears!” She held up her hands in surrender. “All _her_ idea,” she said. Solas shook his head, but kept running.

He stopped to knock politely on the Commander’s door and rushed through when he heard Cullen bark an acknowledgment. “Where is she?” he asked. Cullen pointed to the other door, not even bothering to look up from the desk leg he was sanding. She was already halfway to the mage tower, glancing over her shoulder as his feet pounded behind her. He could hear her breathless laugh as he closed in, the clatter of her steps on the ladder of the mage tower and he took the opportunity to slow and catch his breath. He had her cornered now, and she knew it. 

“It was Sera!” she called.  
He climbed the ladder, taking his time. “Funny, she says the same. But you ran too. Who shall I believe?” he answered.  
“What are you going to do?”  
The tower room was dim, only lit by the broken window. He tried to let his eyes adjust. She was crouched in the corner behind a bed. He fade stepped and erupted beside her in a plume of smoke and grinned at her startled “Oh!”   
“What _should_ I do?” he asked, penning her with an arm braced on either side of her. “Sera recommends tweaking your ears.”   
“No you don’t!” she protested and was gone.   
He whirled around to see her wave at him as she jumped down the ladder. _Fade step? When did she learn that?_ he thought, and raced after. 

She had a head start, but the battlements were not limitless, and his legs were longer. He caught her at his own door. “Truce!” she shrieked as his arms closed around her. “Truce, Solas, I have the solvent.”  
He laughed into her neck as she pushed the door open and they stumbled into his quarters.  
“Where is it then?” he asked, plucking at her pockets. She spun free and backed away. He closed the door.   
“Come and find it,” she answered with a wicked smile.  
“Hmm, I don’t know that it’s worth it,” he said, even as he stalked toward her. “Do you know what I was writing with your disappearing ink?”  
She shook her head, still breathless and tense, waiting to make another feint at escape.  
“The Ghilain clan has written to me. They need a First. They wish to offer me a place. And a bondmate should I choose.”  
Her smile faltered. 

_Interesting_ , he thought. It was not his intent to make her doubt him.   
“You would join a clan?”  
“The offered bride price is quite substantial,” he said, his hands already sliding along her hips, checking pockets and lingering where they shouldn’t. “Perhaps I should thank you for preventing me from sending my refusal.”  
“You were refusing?”  
“I was. But maybe I should reconsider. Especially since you seem to be so reluctant to give up the solvent. It is a fitting punishment. I like it much better than tweaking your ears.” He kissed one of them. A cold glass vial was pressed into his hand. Her smile had returned.

“Go answer your letter,” she said.  
“No, I think it’s better left—”   
She pushed him back and he sat heavily onto the bed. “Shall I fetch you a parchment and quill?” she asked.  
He grinned and reclined farther, his head resting on his hands. “I do not lack the instruments, Inquisitor, just the will.”  
“Is that so? What would motivate you?”  
“It is a _very_ generous bride price. I am not certain the Inquisition could match it.”  
“I can match it,” she said climbing onto the bed.   
“Oh? What would you give me to stay?” he had meant it lightly, a threat without teeth, something they both knew he’d never do. It was before she knew. Before _he_ knew. When he’d still had hope. But her smile failed again and she had hovered over him, tracing the lines of his face with her fingers.  
“Everything. You have my love. My faith. All the days I have remaining. What have I left to give you? Stay. Shall I parcel out my breaths and heartbeats to trade for yours? I am a poor woman, indeed, even in those. But they are still—”  
“They are still more precious than halla and ironbark, Vhenan. Each breath worth a thousand of my own. You offer too much.”

He carefully sprinkled the solvent over the parchment, sweeping it over the darkening ink and brushing away the bittersweet memory. The handwriting was shaky, almost unrecognizable. The ill-formed letters caused him more fear than anything they actually said. Was she in trouble? In pain? 

_I said goodbye to Sera here. The Jennies have agreed to help me with a project. I hope you would be proud, though I suspect, in light of what’s to come, that you would find it a waste of time. I have not abandoned my research, but our forces cannot wait upon my slow understanding. There is still work to be done. Still inches to win. The summer wanes and the travel season will soon be over. I must have all the pieces in play by spring._

_I take your long silence to mean that Mythal did not aid you. I cannot bring myself to believe that she struck you down, though Varric tries to convince me. He thinks it is a kindness. That I will move on if I can believe you are truly gone. I must leave him soon, as well. I fear the silence he will leave in his place far more than I fear his continued gentle nudging. I think it will do far more to persuade me. Sera does not think you are gone. I have found her confidence cheering. I will miss it. The ghoul’s beard powder was, again, her idea. I will not make you chase me for the solvent this time, though she suggested that too._

_Oh, emma lath, how I miss you. If there were any gods left to pray to, all my offerings would be for your safety._

 

Contacting the Kirkwall agents always made him uncomfortable. They were always obviously terrified whenever he did. The Kirkwall alienage had already cast out a Dreamer and a Dalish elf had spread frightful legends of the Dread Wolf a few years before he’d reached out. He regretted not recruiting them earlier. And for allowing them to know he was not an intermediary but Fen’harel, himself. Still, they had proven loyal, and he found himself in great need of information.   
They did not know of each other. He’d thought it prudent, but after several repeated uncomfortable visits, he felt a definite toll. None had seen the Inquisitor or Varric, and he was beginning to think she’d bypassed Kirkwall entirely or had not yet departed Denerim. He woke unsatisfied and anxious.   
_And if she is in trouble?_ he asked himself, _There is little to be done. Her fate is her own. You have more pressing matters to attend._ He knew it was a lie as soon as the thought was complete. Still, he set the worry aside and turned back to the day’s round of spells. The amulet was near completion. A few weeks more, and it would be ready. All that would remain was the Veil. And the waiting.


	84. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_32r4Z3taA&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=2

“Here it is,” said Vhemanen, pushing the book toward him. A fall of snow sifted down the chimney and the fire hissed at its touch. Solas set aside another volume and took hers up.

_Isevun’s health is failing. Each time I draw the power down, the period of relief is shorter. The flame burns in her veins and reducing it seems only to fan its spread. Yet I have found no other method to remove it. A thousand curses upon Dirthamen. He has betrayed me. All his skulking and prying has yielded nothing, except for this foolish endeavor. I cannot see why it elevated Ghilan’nain, yet left Isevun so frail. She is thrice as skilled as Andruil’s dalliance. A rival for Mythal, even. And yet a small portion of my power consumes her from within. Unless I can find an answer within the month, I fear the hand must be removed. Isevun will then be useless to me. I cannot allow the public to see her disfigured and still claim her as my mate. They will not accept anything less than a goddess in Mythal’s place—_

Solas shoved the book away in disgust. “Each time I wonder if I have been too harsh, if I should relent and allow them their freedom, I find another reminder of their cruelty and greed.”  
Vhemanen snorted a laugh and passed him an oatcake. “You ought to have left the marks then. I’ve only to look in a mirror to remember. She was not above reproach either, Solas. Isevun was not a martyr. She wished to become one of them, nothing more. I don’t think Mythal was lying when she told you she’d waited centuries for someone like you. No one with a chance at power had tried to help others before you. They only sought to gather more for themselves. Do not pity Isevun. She only wanted to take Mythal’s place. If she’d succeeded— well, they could hardly have done worse to Mythal than they did.” She shook her head to clear the brutal memory of Mythal’s death. “But I pity your Inquisitor. It took years for Isevun to lose a hand. I hope she is as lucky—” 

The door opened with a boom as the wind slammed it against the stones. A ragged looking elf stood in the doorway with a bundle clutched tightly in his hand. Solas rose to help him as he stumbled inside. Vhemanen hobbled to the door and shoved it closed again.  
“What is it, lethallin?” asked Solas, guiding the man toward the fire. He shrank away from Solas’s touch but didn’t fight him. “Why have you come?”  
“Apologies,” the man stuttered through shivering teeth. “It is a long way from Kirkwall and many of the passes are closed.”  
“Kirkwall?” Solas felt a tight twist of dread spear his chest. “Why did you not take the eluvian?”  
“Smashed. The Templars found it last year.” He sat on the hearth, snow dripping and slithering down his skin. Vhemanen wrapped a blanket over his shoulders and shot a worried look at Solas before bustling away muttering about something hot for his belly. Solas crouched beside the man. _Adwen_ , his memory supplied at last.

“Are you in trouble? What has made you travel so far? I would have sent aid.”  
Adwen shook his head and held out the bundle. “I cannot go back. One of the Inquisition noted me. The boy with the hat.”  
“Cole?”  
“He just walked up and handed it to me one morning. Told me it was for you. And that the Inquisitor is very ill.”  
Solas took the chilled package. “How long was the Inquisition in Kirkwall?”  
“I am unsure. I failed to spot them. However they arrived, it must have been kept quiet. I— I meant to be here sooner. They were in a derelict mansion when I left, but that was mid Harvestmere. I only knew because the boy approached me.”

“Did you speak—”  
“Let the man rest,” said Vhemanen gently. “He has walked a long way to bring that to you.”  
Adwen looked at her in alarm and shielded his head as if expecting a blow as Solas whispered a spell to warm him.  
“I am not going to hurt you,” said Solas. “Not all the stories are true.” The man flinched as Solas’s spell sank into his skin but relaxed after a moment. Vhemanen handed Adwen a warm bowl of food and pulled Solas aside.  
“You’d better leave him to me. He’s heard too many lies to rest near you.” She tapped the bundle in his hand. “And you have news. It is almost First Day. You should go.”  
“If the Inquisition cannot find a healer to help her, what good would I do?” he asked.  
She looked at him sadly. “We both know it isn’t Frost cough. You may be the only one who can do any good. At least for now. If you can buy her some time, we may find the solution still.” She gave him a careful push toward the stairs and turned back to the man wolfing down the food behind them.

He set the bundle down on his narrow cot, abandoning it to search for his travel pack. He had already decided. Probably as soon as Adwen had uttered the word “Kirkwall”. _Steal her_ , Cole had said. _Let another take your place_ , she’d begged him. He reached up to take down his staff and felt the thump of the jawbone swinging against his chest. He’d sworn an oath. He caught the bone in his fingers. He’d put her through all of it, put them all through agony to finish it. Could he really put it aside to save her for a few more months? Did all of it mean nothing? 

He sank down onto the cot. He couldn’t even be certain she was still in Kirkwall. It had been months. She might have recovered. Or traveled to Tevinter still ill. Or— _gone_. He closed his eyes and struggled to focus on the Fade. The pull of her remained. That he was sure of. Not gone. It was enough reassurance to let him slip into sleep. He found Ithalla quickly in a dull dream of dirty dishes and the cranky innkeeper of the Hanged Man. He brushed it aside, too worried to shift it gradually and avoid frightening her. 

“You did not tell me the Inquisitor had arrived,” he said abruptly.  
It took a moment for Ithalla to focus on him, bewildered by the sudden awareness that she was not awake. “I— I have not seen the Inquisitor. Master Tethras, to be sure. But he came alone. And he rarely comes here—” she glanced around, slowly realizing they were no longer in the bar. “ _There_ ,” she amended, “He and that pirate and Hawke’s glowing elf have been closeted together for months. Over in Hightown. They don’t let lowtown folk up there.”  
“Did anyone else join Varric? A mage, perhaps? Or a Qunari?”  
Ithalla frowned. “We heard rumors of a band of mercenaries who signed up with the pirate. One of _them_ was Qunari. But I never saw one since the war. If your Inquisition is here, then they are staying very quiet. The whole world knows about the mark in her hand. She couldn’t get very far without being recognized.”

“Flickers and bursts. Like every bolt of lightning she ever cast come back to her. Stitching the sky closed and piercing her hand with the needle every time. And now the mansion is emerald, haunted again.”  
Solas turned to see Cole clutching his own wrist as if it were his hand that ached. He pulled them out of Ithalla’s dream.  
“She’s sick. Dorian keeps her sleeping. She would leave if he didn’t. The Veil is very thin here. She is afraid she will rip it open. But the boat is so small and the lightning is so big. She’s like a dead tree, her bones burning, her skin all whole with the heartwood cracked. You _have_ to come.”  
“Where is she?”  
“Varric put her in his brother’s bed. He hopes the lyrium is gone. He swears he hears it. But she made him swear. Made them all swear. Secret. Another rabbit. Dorian’s servant. No one sees her hand. And her marks are gone. You made her invisible. She knows it will not last. She thinks she will not need it to. One more inch.”

“I haven’t found a way to remove it,” cried Solas.  
“You can still help. She knows. And all the time your name flutters behind her lips. She keeps it there, a moth she will not free. She knows you are helping someone else now. It makes her very careful not to call. No speaking of you. She asks Bull to stop the dreams. No veilfire.”  
“Find me a way in without being seen. I will be there in a week.”  
Cole nodded and Solas woke with a start. His hand fell on the bundle beside him and he unwrapped the thick oilcloth. It was a book. One of Varric’s. He couldn’t help the deep pang of disappointment that flooded him. What had he expected? No veilfire. He opened it anyway, knowing he should be stuffing his pack and heading for the door. A lone leaf lay upon the title page, red as flame and brittle, so brittle. He didn’t need veilfire to know it was from her. 

The floor creaked under Vhemanen’s feet and he looked over at her as she hovered in the doorway. She was not the small girl he remembered. And Abelas was not the fearless warrior he had seen in Mythal’s guard. And this place— his whole world was a ruin. Mythal’s magic pulsed within him, overran him, and yet he had never felt as powerless.

Vhemanen stuffed a cloth sack into his pack and strapped it tightly closed. She held it out to him and then his staff.  
“Don’t come back,” she said.  
“I swore an oath,” he answered.  
“Everyone who would have held you to it is long dead. Those that remain would forgive you.”  
“ _I_ would not forgive me.”  
“It seems to me that you will not forgive yourself either way. Which guilt is worse? This world or the other? One must die. But only one has her in it.”  
He stood up. “If it were so, then the choice would be easy. But the burden of _this_ world remains, no matter how I choose. I will see you shortly. Will you be well until Loranil arrives?”  
She laughed. “I held a temple for far longer than a few days on my own. I am not so frail. Go.”

The closest eluvian was still a two day walk from Kirkwall. The weather was foul. The snow became sleet and the air stung with salt tang. Somehow, the city was still filthy, even in the constant snow and rain. It made an icy sheen over the grit instead of washing it away. He took care to arrive in the morning throng. One of many elves coming to trade at the market. There were few in the city who would recognize him, but he could afford no mistakes. The Undercity would normally have been ideal, but too many of his own agents utilized it. The same was true of Lowtown. He kept to the edges of the street and avoided greeting anyone. Most of the humans ignored him, but a few of the elves were watching him. 

Cole had left a trail. Bone-white sand dollars, dozens of them, scattered several feet apart. They almost disappeared in the dirty snow and Solas had to spend most of his focus on finding the next one. He had little opportunity to worry much about being spotted. Some part of him didn’t care. It would not turn him back. The shells led him to a small outbuilding in Hightown where Cole was waiting. The boy was wringing his hands and shifting foot to foot. 

“You _came_ ,” he said, breaking into a smile as Solas shut the shed door. “She will be so happy.”  
Solas shook his head. “She cannot know. Not _ever_ , Cole. Do you understand?”  
“You aren’t staying,” he realized. “You can take her. Wake her up where she is loved.”  
He hesitated. The boy made it sound so simple. And her allies were deserting her. By spring, Cole would likely be the last at her side. “What is she doing here? What is this last inch she wants badly enough to suffer for it?”  
“I— it was meant to be secret,” said Cole uneasily.  
“From me as well?”  
Cole tapped his ear. “From others. This is not a good hiding place. Come with me.” He pressed open a door and led Solas into a stone passage. They passed, swift and silent through empty sculleries and cold baths. 

“Is she alone here?” he asked. Cole shook his head.  
“Not alone. Someone is always nearby. They must be. Otherwise Dorian would have already left. Sometimes him. Sometimes Fenris. Sometimes Varric. Sometimes me. Iron Bull is gone with the Chargers. The boat smooths the way. He likes being a pirate. He says it suits him. Varric is with her now.”  
“Perhaps I should wait until it is your turn again—” he stopped as a shrill scream rang through the building. A thick wave of magic slammed into him.  
“Oh no,” cried Cole. “She is awake. I have to find Dorian.” He blinked out, leaving Solas standing in the doorway of the long, empty dining room, her agony still echoing in his ears. 

He froze, uncertain what to do or where to go. He could hear Varric’s warm voice speaking above him in a constant stream.  
“Go on, Inquisitor, drink it now. Dorian will be here in a moment—”  
“No.” The gasp in her voice made him ache. There were a few footsteps.  
“ _Please_ , this is pointless. You shouldn't be in this pain.”  
“I have ten minutes, Varric, before the pulse returns. Tell me what has happened.”  
“You _had_ ten minutes. Last time. It’s getting worse. The spell shouldn’t have worn off for another hour.”  
“I know. Don’t waste any more of them.”

Solas rushed through the large hall, looking for the steps up to her. The voices faded as he moved away and he could no longer understand them. The mansion was a vacant maze, the hearths unlit and chilled. No scent of food, no other voices, no candles burning. Why was she living like this?  
He found the stairs at last. Varric’s voice returned first as he climbed.

“One pulse and you’ll blow Isabella’s ship to splinters.”  
“I can hold it.”  
“No, you _can’t_. It’s killing you. Your barrier cracked in that last one.”  
“Then send Dorian on. I’ll go back to the Marches until it subsides.”  
“So you can die alone in some swamp? Dorian won’t go, anyway.”  
“He must. It’s the last piece. He can represent me in absentia. We never needed me to finish this.”  
Solas could hear them behind the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob. He had been so careful to stay hidden. It hadn’t been for his sake, but hers. He hadn’t wanted her to know. Hadn’t wanted to have to leave her again.

“He’s not—” Varric’s voice was drowned in another shriek and Solas’s paralysis broke. The door flung open, his hand already finishing the sleeping spell as he stepped through. The Inquisitor dropped. Varric caught her clumsily before her head could slam into the bureau beside them. Her hand was blindingly bright, thick branches of sickly green glow flickered like embers from a deadly fire in her skin. He had felt the pressure of the magic discharging even from beyond her barrier and he could feel it building again even now.

He helped Varric lower her down to the floor even as the dwarf gaped at him.  
“Thank the Maker, Chuckles,” he said and collapsed onto his knees. “We thought you were dead. None of us know what to do.”  
“Neither do I,” he said grimly. “But I can diminish it for a time.”  
“Anything is better than this. Every time she wakes up, it’s worse. And it’s getting faster.”  
Solas turned her palm up between his hands. “She needs to get out of this city, Varric. The Veil is treacherously thin here. One failed barrier and the entire city could fall while she is like this. And it’s worsening the anchor as well.”  
“I can’t put her on a boat like this,” Varric protested. “And Skyhold is much too far. She’ll never make it.”  
“We’ll discuss it later. Let me work. And get a fire going in here.”  
“Yeah, sure.” Varric got up, still shaky. “We’re going to talk about how you disappeared later too. If you weren’t the only person that could help her right now—”  
“I know,” said Solas without turning to look. “But let me do what I am able to before that. It is too long of a story.”

Her face was so tired, even in sleep. Drawn and sad. Solas had a terrible moment of feeling they’d been here before. All that was missing were the chains around her wrist. The pain was the same. And his raw panic.  
“This is not a meeting I wished to revisit,” he said, brushing the side of her cheek. He closed his eyes and clasped her marked hand and concentrated. The sudden flood of power made him lightheaded. He had not touched the mark in almost a year and the strength of it had multiplied exponentially. It was no mystery that she was ill. How she’d prevented it from destroying Kirkwall was the wonder. She shifted and he opened his eyes. Still sleeping. He was grateful for that. The mark was stabilized. Varric was still gone. There was no reason to tarry. He knew he ought to go. But to touch her, to see her just for a moment…

More gray threaded through her hair than he remembered. There were more lines in the corners of her eyes. And scars he could not place. That bothered him most. Hurts he had not been there to heal. He picked her up. The floor was doubtless colder even than the rumpled bed near the window. He took a step toward it but halted. _Would it be so wrong? She offered to go, in the end._

She was a relic. Something discarded. Like him. The others were leaving. They didn’t need her. But he did. More than he ever had. Orlais was quiet. The Wardens had their own struggles far away. The mages had mostly scattered or joined Vivienne. Her clan was safe. Or he could make them so. As safe as anyone could be in a doomed world. She could vanish. There was no point in— 

Varric clattered into the room with a load of wood. “Well?” he asked, seeing Solas holding the Inquisitor.  
“The mark is stable for now. It should not trouble her any longer.” He sat on the bed rather than putting her down. “What was the plan? Why did you come here? And why are you keeping her in an empty, lightless attic? Even the Hanged Man would be better.”  
“You think you could do better, Chuckles? You weren’t around to help. We had to keep it quiet. This place was safe. And mine. I tried to persuade her to furnish it and heat it, but she insisted. No one was to know we were here. No lights, no sounds, no movement in or out if we could avoid it. It was only supposed to be for a day or two. She and Dorian were meant to sail to Tevinter months ago. But then the mark got worse. She still ordered us not to change the plan. Every morning she got up intending to take the next step, but we’d get to the docks or the end of the street or eventually only to the door of this room and it would flare up. Then Dorian would knock her out and try some weird shit to stop it that _never_ worked and the whole thing would repeat and get worse. Iron Bull was the only one sane enough to go against her wishes. And he’s gone. Looking for _you_ , by the way. I told him you were dead. I told _her_ you were dead. Andraste’s ass, Solas, I _hoped_ you were dead. Where have you been? How could you leave her like this?”  
“She didn’t _tell_ me. Skyhold should have dampened the worst of it. She never said—”  
Varric shook his head in confusion. “What in the Void are you talking about? Skyhold? And when was she supposed to tell you? You’ve been gone a year. A _year_.”

Solas tightened his hold on the Inquisitor. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on the smooth rise and fall of her breath, just for a moment. “Why did you come here?” he asked. “Why has she been so long away from Skyhold?”  
Varric laughed but it was bitter and low. “Because she can’t stop saving the world. The Imperium has taken an interest in the Inquisition. It’s a force to be reckoned with. They invited her to send an ambassador to court. She decided to install Dorian personally. It’s all a ruse. A cover to help escaped slaves. She and Josephine planned the whole thing ages ago. Sera is using the Red Jennies to find work and homes for the ones that made it here. To spread them out over Orlais and Ferelden so they won’t raise suspicions. Isabella and Iron Bull are their way across the Waking Sea. Isabella’s been running goods for years. She knows which dockmasters to bribe to turn a blind eye. But for ex-slaves, she needed extra muscle. The Chargers volunteered. Fenris and I had safe houses. This one and another. And Hawke’s name to back us up until she gets back. And— a sympathetic friend in the City Guard. Dorian was meant to be the contact in the Imperium. But we had to keep it quiet. If anyone realized she was the Inquisitor, they’d be watching every move. She knew once she and Dorian reached court she wouldn’t be able to hide, but we were to have it all set up by then.” He sighed. “But from the screams in the past few days, someone’s got to have heard something. No good trying to pretend this place is still empty. We’ll have to come up with another story.”

“How big was the escape?”  
Varric piled the wood in the hearth. “What escape?”  
“How many slaves were meant to escape?”  
Varric shrugged. “All of them.”  
“All?”  
“You don’t get it. I wouldn’t let her suffer like this for a single group of slaves. Even Fenris wouldn’t, and he has more reason than I do. This was meant to be permanent. Or— as permanent as it could be. The Inquisition’s over. How long do you think Orlais or Ferelden are going to tolerate an army camping on their doorsteps now that Corypheus is gone? It’s only a question of time before they force the issue. Look at her. You know her better than any of us. Do you really think she’ll fight to keep it? She wasn’t ever going to go back to her clan and settle down. None of us were, not after what we’ve been through. But Cullen— he sends her to babysit nobles. Or recover the bones of some ancient hero. And she still finds trouble anyway. This was her way to keep going. The world’s a shitty place, Chuckles, even _I_ know that. She makes it better.”  
“I know,” he said, brushing his fingers over her brow. He looked up again at Varric. “What was her part? Could you do it without her?”  
“Shit,” swore Varric, “I knew you were going to give me bad news.”  
“No— she’s safe, for now. I just— could you save them without her?”

“We’d _try_. But she’s behind it all. Every step. Everything that has gone wrong, she’s solved. Every time we’ve needed resources, she’s found them. Josephine has helped, but it was the Inquisitor doing the legwork. And her name still has weight. It’s gained us many personal favors. She’s made alliances between groups no one ever thought would work together. Even the carta’s involved. It’s a _good_ plan. But you know how those go. Without her— we’d probably pull off a few trips before something went wrong and we got caught. Dorian’s smooth and Iron Bull is smart and Fenris is— well, Fenris is brilliant, but none of us are her.”  
_It’s no good,_ he realized. _She must stay_. And he could not. Part of him rebelled. _What use was it, freeing them? They’d all be dead in a few years, enslaved or free._ But the thought filled him with shame and he sobbed.

“Solas?” asked Varric. He took a step toward the bed. Solas ignored him.  
“Ir abelas, Vhenan,” he said and pressed a kiss to her cheek that she did not feel. He laid her down and pulled the coverlet over her. He turned to Varric. “She’ll need rest. A week, maybe, and she’ll be recovered.”  
“Fine. Do you want me to hire some furnish—”  
“I promised her I would not force you to forget,” interrupted Solas, “but if you care about her, you will never speak of this. Not for my sake, but for hers. She cannot know I was here.”  
“What?”  
He looked down at her once more. “Try to persuade her to return to Skyhold when she may. There are safeguards there that will slow the anchor’s spread.”  
“I thought you’d be— _you_ of all of us, you say you believe in the right of all people to be free. And you’re _leaving_? You have no idea of the chaos you left behind you—”  
“I do. I know. I can’t—”  
“You must have cared once, you came back. What have you got that’s more important than the Inquisitor? Than this?”  
“I can’t explain. Not now. I have to go. I will return when I can—”  
Varric’s hand went to Bianca’s strap at his chest. “Don’t,” he said. “If you’re going, don’t come back. Let her go. The anchor might kill her, but at least she’d be sane at the end. And you don’t need to worry about me saying anything. As far as I’m concerned, the Solas I knew _is_ dead. He’d never do _this_.”  
“I’m sorry, Varric.”  
“I told you once, feeling bad about the shitty things you’ve done doesn’t give you an excuse to keep doing them. Get out of here if you’re going. I won’t stop you, but Dorian will be here in a minute or two and I’m not so sure he’d be as gracious.”  
He could hear Cole’s voice in the stairwell. He touched her hand where it lay on the blanket and fade stepped.


	85. Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJ0lGlzYCUA&list=RDGMEMJQXQAmqrnmK1SEjY_rKBGAVM21wbsJCCHdQ&index=2

The dirty slush of frozen seawater and the crowds of the destitute made the Kirkwall docks even worse than he remembered from his short visit a few years past. So many people. Some leaving in hopes of a better future elsewhere, some tumbling from ships just arrived searching for the same. It was a scene he had witnessed countless times. Different cities, different ages, but always akin to this. Everything changed, except this. He had seen enough empires rise and fall to know that. Why was she bothering? Risking so much to help slaves escape. She would only send them into a different kind of slavery on another shore. And in a few years— it would all be finished anyhow. Why couldn’t she rest?

_Why can’t you?_ he thought. _Haven’t you done the same, over and over again?_ He had thought it mattered, once, how the people he’d left behind had lived. How they’d struggled to right things. To do better, to be more. Some part of him knew he felt that way, still, though it was buried under a deep despair. That the right words, the right people could draw it out of him again. He wound his way through the slowly milling crowds toward the boats, the tang of salt and filth pricking his nose. The harbormaster was shouting at a frostbitten dwarf who cowered next to a fallen load of bundles. Solas bent to help him pick them up, placing them carefully together and retying the snapped cord while the harbormaster continued to scold. 

“What do you want, knife-ear?” he scowled at last. Solas helped the dwarf lift the awkward, shifting parcels onto his back before answering.  
“I wanted to find passage to Tevinter,” he said coolly. The dwarf scuttled off before the harbormaster could renew his tirade.  
The harbormaster glanced skeptically at him. “Most of you people are trying to _escape_ Tevinter.”  
Solas remained silent, waiting.  
The harbormaster shrugged. “Only ship willing to go that far is the Casus Belli. Third one in the far dock.” He waved a calloused hand down the pier. Solas didn’t bother thanking him.

He knew he should go. It was perilous to linger here. If the Inquisitor saw him— if she tried to stop him, he knew he would yield. But leaving without being certain that she was well— _what does it matter?_ he asked himself, even as he found a seat among the barrels of fresh water that waited on the dock, _her fate is the same as all the others. A few years, maybe. And then—_ He pushed the idea away again, as he always did, and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. A simple illusion made certain he was hidden to any casual passers by. 

He was relieved the ship was still in port. He’d expected her to slip out earlier than the prescribed week. His people had watched the house around the clock, but had seen only Dorian and Varric enter or exit. He’d camped outside the city, and each day passing without a sign of life from her was a heavy stone added to his back. The Inquisitor that he’d known would have protested the wait, eager and restless to be off. She’d have persuaded him within the day, and yet there was no sign of preparations and no ravens flew from the rooftop of Bartrand’s house. 

_Who is left to send a raven to?_ he wondered and felt the hollow in his chest grow larger. He should take her with him. Once she left Dorian in Tevinter, only Cole would remain. And he did not need her. Or Josephine who was gone often on business for her family or visiting Orlais. An army of soldiers who didn’t realize she was flesh instead of stone, and Cullen who had no idea what to do with her. 

A smattering of shouts roused him. The sailors were readying the ship and Varric’s voice carried over the tumult directing the carriage of luggage and stores aboard.   
“Out of my way, rabbit,” snarled an impatient man.  
“I apologize,” the Inquisitor’s voice was a low current beneath it all and Solas strained to catch it.  
“I’ll thank you not to address my attaché with so little respect.” Dorian’s anger sizzled and Solas caught sight of the man hastily touching his forelock and retreating.  
“We should lay low,” said the Inquisitor. “It will be a long journey. We should try not to make enemies—”  
“It was rude. I would have said something even had it not been you. But as it is you—” Dorian sighed. “If you’re going to make me pretend to be your ambassador—”  
“It isn’t pretend, Dorian,” she protested.  
“Even so. We may as well use it to our advantage. Let me play my part. Let me lead. You promised, sorora.”  
“I did, you’re right.”  
“Good. Rest here. If anyone asks, you’re ensuring no assassin boards.”  
“But—”  
“Varric?” asked Dorian.  
“I’ve got her, Sparkler.”  
They were quiet for a moment and Solas shifted silently, wanting to see her fully without breaking his enchantment. It won him a partial glimpse between the barrels.  
“Stop worrying,” said Varric, patting her shoulder. “It’s going to go well. A gull from Isabella came this morning. They’ve reached the Eyes of Nocen. Everything’s in place.”  
“What if—”  
“Whatever you’re thinking, it _won’t_.”  
“She’s thinking, ‘What if the anchor gets bad again? What if I sink the ship?’” murmured Cole.  
“It won’t. Dorian checked, remember? You checked. You both agreed—”  
“What if we’re _wrong?_ ” she whispered. “I wish we could be sure. I wish—” she broke off and Solas could see her shoulder rise and curl inward. And then Varric’s arm around it.

“He’s not coming back. I know you don’t want to hear it. I know the others don’t want to say it. We have to make do. We can call this all off, right now. No one would blame you. Go home, Inquisitor. Or stay here, with me. Retire. We’ll tag along with Fenris to find Hawke. You’ve done _enough_.”  
“No. I haven’t. This is important.”   
Varric let her go, and her shoulder straightened.   
“You’re right,” she said, her voice hardening. “He’s not going to return. Not yet. And there is work to be done. We’ll just have to hope that whatever— illness this was, is over.” Her hand flexed.   
Cole’s feet shifted uneasily. “Like a sapling cut back in spring. It will be months before it spreads again. The boat is safe. He knows better, now. He will be back before it swallows you.”  
“Andraste’s tits, kid—” hissed Varric.   
“He _loves_ her,” protested Cole.   
Solas couldn’t help but send a silent thanks to the boy, though he knew it was probably best left as Varric had.  
“Thank you, Cole. It makes me happy to hear,” said the Inquisitor.  
“I know,” said the boy.  
“All hands hoy!” called a sailor and Varric gave them both a hasty hug. “Don’t _worry_ ,” he told the Inquisitor, “You and Dorian are the mask. We’ll handle the rest. I’ll see you in the spring.”  
“Be _careful,_ ” she answered and Solas heard her feet on the ramp. 

Elgar’nan’s glare did nothing for his mood. Perhaps he should restore the statue. Just to decrease the balefulness of those dark pits where its eyes were meant to be. A project for another time. Before he brought her here. He was too tired to wonder when it had moved from a longing to a resolution, but he was certain the Inquisitor would be here before the end. She’d never have stayed in Skyhold. It was always meant for others. Maybe the escaped slaves she was helping. Maybe just the Inquisition, itself. 

Vhemanen’s expression of pity was harder to face. She said nothing when he entered, but her long look at the door, as if she expected another behind him, was enough. _Harden your heart,_ he told himself, _there is work to be done on my part, as well_.   
“Loranil will be relieved you are back,” was all she said, handing him a warm plate of food. “He is tired of looking after an old woman.”  
“I think you are tired of looking after _him,_ ” said Solas, sitting on the hearth beside her.   
“He’s itching for the training yard.”  
“He would be better served training with you. Did you tell him how long you guarded the temple?”  
Vhemanen smiled. “Invisibility has served me well.” She plucked at the thin spot at his tunic’s elbow. “It’s served us both.”  
“Yes. But there are times I long to be seen, all the same.” 

“The boy is sweet and obedient. Too obedient. He’d never risk an ear tweaking for a bottle of Elgar’nan’s Heart.”  
Solas groaned a laugh. “Then he is wiser than I. That bottle was worse than the punishment. Very well, perhaps Abelas will tame his restlessness for a time. I would see them happy while time remains.”  
The smile faded from her face. “And you? Your time runs as short as ours. Is she— did you stop the spread?”  
“For now. Have you found anything further on Isevun? I fear she will lose the arm next time. It was much more dire than I had anticipated.”  
“No. Only that the growth of the magic becomes more rapid every time. Elgar’nan was not successful. It eventually consumed Isevun. I’m sorry.”  
He nodded. “As am I. But it was as Abelas warned me. I didn’t expect to find an answer, though I hoped I might pick up where Elgar’nan left off.”  
“Perhaps the Veil will slow the process.”  
“Perhaps.”  
She watched him for a long moment. “Why didn’t you bring her to us?”  
He smiled, but it was bitter. “Are you so certain she would have agreed?”  
“Solas, you forget that I saw her. How she longed to stay in Mythal’s home. How crushed she was at Abelas’s pronouncement. How she looked at _you_. I am certain she would have agreed. Just as I am certain you did not ask.”  
“She has her own work that must be done.”  
“As important as this?” asked Vhemanen.  
His heart rebelled, but his mind knew better. “Yes,” he said. “And we have our tasks here. I will bring her here, in the end. But it is not yet time. How is the spellwork on the amulet?”  
She straightened, aware that he was shutting it away, replacing his mantle again. “Stable, I think. It has always been difficult for me to measure these things since the Veil. Like touching something in the dark and trying to guess its shape.”

He stood up. “If it holds, the amulet should be finished within the week.”  
“And then?” she asked.  
“And then I must find a way to either convince Mythal of my story or destroy the Titan before Andruil reaches it.”  
Vhemanen shook her head. “But you were a child when Andruil first found the Titan. And all the records are lost. Her people were buried with the titan. I’ve never heard of a single survivor. How are you going to find out how to stop her? As soon as you arrive, you will be lost.” She waved a hand toward his face. “And unmarked. You’ll be spotted immediately.”  
He touched his cheek. It was not something he’d considered. The vallaslin would have to be put back. He shuddered at the idea. “I will have to find someone who knows how it happened. Andruil’s people cannot be the only ones that know. Ghilan’nain’s people, perhaps—” he stopped as she shook her head.  
“They’re all _gone_ , Solas. So few entered uthenera with us and of those, so many, like me, were woken and stayed awake. That any of us remain was unlikely. That someone with the knowledge you need did… Perhaps you should ask Abelas. He was older, at least, when it happened. Maybe he will know of others who remain. Maybe they’ll be able to piece the story together for you. Enough so that you aren’t immediately killed.”  
He flexed his hand, staring at it, feeling the extra power he had drawn from the anchor pulse through him. “I will not die that easily.”  
Vhemanen crossed her arms and stared at him. “Do not fall for the same lie as the Evanuris. Their power did not save them. And it was not your might that trapped them. Your strength is in cleverness, Solas, it always was. All of us are depending upon it now. Do not go unprepared.”  
She was right. He nodded. “I’ll find Abelas in the morning. For now, I have more spells to start.”


	86. Anaris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8ljNixuCwc&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=10

Abelas had gone to the northern edge of the forest with a scouting party. It took several days to reach him, but they were not unpleasant. The land was not as damaged as Solas had feared. Wisdom’s precautions had saved most of the forest from the blight. He would be able to call the rest of his forces soon. Fear of the legends had kept Tevinter at bay and he only saw signs of his own people as he traveled. Still, the guard posts that Abelas had begun constructing on the borders were necessary. He had an uneasy feeling that they were meant as much to keep those who would become infected with blight inside of Arlathan as they were to keep intruders out. _Get it done,_ he told himself, _do not dwell on what you must leave behind. It helps no one. Harden your heart._

They had reclaimed the ancient lighthouse, though the casual observer would never have known. All signs of their habitation were covered. Even the snow appeared undisturbed at the foot of the stone tower. The beacon remained dark in the carven tower. It would not shine again until the Veil fell and magic flooded it again. Solas felt eyes upon him as he approached. Abelas met him on the ice-slick rocks at the foot of the lighthouse. “The Casus Belli passed this point yesterday morning,” he offered.  
Solas nodded. “Thank you,” he said, “but that was not the reason for my visit.”  
Abelas indicated the lighthouse. “It is better to speak inside. There are many ears here. I would have them turned toward the borders instead of busy with us.”

It was warmer than he’d expected. Thick carpets lay upon the stone floor and the smell of cooking food seemed constant. There was laughter and soft conversation from every corner. Much more was done for comfort’s sake than he had expected from someone as stern and disciplined as Abelas. “I am glad to see them happy,” he observed.   
Abelas looked around them. “You were right. I have spent too many centuries thinking only of battle. I had forgotten there was anything else to living. I do not serve a goddess now. My choices must be my own. It has been— difficult to adjust to that. I found myself questioning my purpose. Why did I want to save this world that has abandoned us? But life will persist, despite my melancholy. It pushes in at every opportunity. Comfort, companionship, intelligence crop up more often than I would have admitted six months ago. I see now, why you love them. Would that I had taken my watch earlier and seen the world young and full of hope, newly free. There is no purpose in misery. It will come without my aiding it. Better they are at peace in the little time that is left to them. And to me.”  
“I am sorry to be the one to disturb it,” said Solas.  
“Our goals have not changed, nor am I less committed to them. What would you have of me?”  
“The amulet is almost complete. It is time for me to turn my attention to the next step. I need to prepare, but I was very young when Andruil entered the titan. The tales, I know, are not accurate. I need to find someone who was there, someone who can show me a way to prevent it.”

Abelas led him to a large hearth and sat on the low bench beside it. He watched the flames for a long moment. “Unless you know how to stop someone from falling in love, I’m not certain that there _is_ a way to prevent her from finding the crystals.”  
Solas felt a rueful smile cross his face. “I have been less than successful in that area.”  
“You and Elgar’nan, both. You will have to prevent her from bringing them back to Elvhenan. That is where the trouble began. I am not certain how you do that, except to end her. Her and Anaris both.”  
“Anaris? What has he to do with this?”  
“Vir sulevanin, Dread Wolf. The story for your aid.”  
“You already have my aid.”  
Abelas shook his head. “Not enough. I find the Sentinels and I have grown dull in our small skirmishes against the Shemlen. I need a _true_ sparring partner. Someone who will not hold back. Who will not go easy. For the other Evanuris will not. I need us to be ready.”  
“But—”  
“I will take care. We can work up to fighting against your full power. But I cannot let them fall farther still. This will not be a simple brawl, even were it only the darkspawn that we faced.”

Solas was quiet for a long while. He did not tell Abelas that he could kill him with a thought. Nor that the sleeping Evanuris were crawling with more power than he because of the lyrium. What good would it do? Let the man go to his death thinking that the battle mattered, even if it were only in his own mind. It was its own type of peace. “Very well,” said Solas, “Your terms are accepted. I will also need worthy opponents to train with. I find my distance from the Inquisition has softened my skills. We will begin once the amulet is finished. Tell me about Anaris.”  
“The myths the Dalish tribes believe are broken,” began Abelas, “but they are all broken in the same way. They are the children of slaves, Solas. They only know the Evanuris as their ancestors did. Fearful, distant things that have their own passions and motives. It is why they still tell the story of you and Andruil and the tree. It was meant as a jab at _her_. Rumors were rampant while you were isolated in her chambers. The most popular was that she had taken you as a lover to provide Elgar’nan with the heir that Ghilan’nain could not give her. And that Anaris would seek vengeance for it. Do you know how Ghilan’nain came to rise to the pantheon?”  
“Only that it was Andruil that kept her from banishment.”  
“Ghilan’nain was a consolation gift from Mythal,” said Abelas. “She was less of a threat than Anaris had been and Elgar’nan relented only after lengthy negotiations with Mythal.” He paused and glanced over at Solas. “Ghilan’nain was accepted as part of the pantheon in return for Mythal allowing her husband to attempt to raise Isevun. You know now that he failed. But Ghilan’nain remained.”  
“Why did Mythal agree to this? What use was Ghilan’nain to her?” He could not imagine the woman he knew agreeing to not one, but _two_ additional Evanuris. Not when she knew the damage they did and given the lengths she went to fight it.  
“The addition of Ghilan’nain kept the Evanuris from splitting. She was the key to the fragile peace that existed between them. Falon’din was always ready to war with his father. It was only the lack of support from the others that held him back as long as it did. If Andruil had also turned on Elgar’nan, then Dirthamen would follow. And Mythal would have been forced to choose between her children and her husband. 

"Andruil had loved Anaris, once. When I was a small boy. He was a quiet man, he stayed out of the politics of Arlathan, far more interested in the dwarven kingdoms than our own shifting alliances. Andruil was— different, then. Not much more than a maiden. She did not have the severity or cruelty yet, that you experienced. She was adventurous, even then. She would go with Anaris at times, on his journey into the deep places. Converse with the dwarves, help them hunt the deepstalkers and the savage cretahl that threatened expansion. For a time, Elgar’nan allowed it. Approved, even. It was Anaris who first brought lyrium to the Evanuris. How he persuaded the underkings to part with it, I’ve never known. The others were delighted. And greedy. It made Anaris bold. He dared to ask Elgar’nan for Andruil’s hand. It would mean elevating him. The negotiations were lengthy. I remember attending them under Mythal with my father. It was my task to pour the wine then. I was far too young to understand what was said, and obedient enough to keep my peace about what little I _did_ know.

Elgar’nan asked an outrageous dowry. More lyrium than had been gained in several years. But such was the love of Anaris for Andruil, that he agreed. He returned to the dwarven kingdoms. And for a time, we heard nothing. Mythal’s house was too busy preparing the bonding ceremony to pay much attention. Andruil was too happy to be concerned. But then the earth began shaking. Great rending shudders through all this forest and beyond. Great temples cracked and June’s intricate works crumbled. Fire erupted from the fissures and the people cried out for aid from their gods. It went on for many months until, at last, Anaris returned to Arlathan, a thousand wagons of lyrium accompanying him. He had come to claim Andruil. But Elgar’nan discovered that his insane need for lyrium had been what was causing the earth to split. 

Deep below Arlathan, Anaris made the dwarves dig. They drained the titan, pulling more and more of the crystals from its veins. At first, they tried to warn him, but Anaris was powerful. Even more so with the lyrium. And he frightened them into obedience. The titan writhed and groaned in agony and still they dug. It rose up, trying to shake off its attackers, never realizing they were inside it all the time. They dug while Arlathan burned. The people were enraged when they heard, and even Elgar’nan feared their anger. He tried to send Anaris away. He wanted the titan slain, so that it would never threaten the city again. But the dwarves refused. And Anaris defended them. He said it was their home, their sustenance, their god. He accused the Evanuris of unchecked greed. That he had only risked angering the titan in order to satisfy Elgar’nan’s demand and win Andruil.”

Abelas stopped and scrubbed a hand over his face. “If only he’d accepted the dowry and gone forward with the bonding. Perhaps we would not be here now.”  
Solas frowned. “I think it likely we would have been here sooner. The Evanuris cannot have been dissuaded from taking more power simply because of the source.”  
“They were not. It was not the fate of the titan that disturbed them. Nor the distress and terror of the dwarves or even their own people. It was the destruction of their temples, the dimming of their glory and an exposure of their vulnerability that incensed Elgar’nan. He seized the lyrium, claiming it as recompense for the damage to the temples and banished Anaris from all of Elvhenan. Andruil pleaded and Anaris threatened, but Elgar’nan would not be moved. 

"Anaris cursed them, pleaded with Andruil to join him, to rule the underground kingdoms at his side. But her father warned her that if she chose Anaris, she would no longer be his kin. That she would never feel the warmth of the sun or the touch of a breeze again. Never run through the green forest or taste the salt sea in all the long days of her life. Andruil hesitated. And Anaris _saw._ He left before she could sentence herself to a life beside him. But it began the wars between the dwarven kingdoms and our own, as Elgar’nan hunted down the titans, though peace within Elvhenan held. 

And when Andruil fell again in love, Mythal was secretly relieved. Ghilan’nain was pliable. Easily won over. Especially as the others shut her out and Mythal treated her with kindness.” Abelas stopped, a bitter scowl twisting his face. “Of all the betrayals, hers was perhaps the worst. The others— they were bound by blood to Mythal. But Ghilan’nain— and _you_ , were bound by something stronger. Yet Ghilan’nain threw it aside the day Mythal died.   
I was there when she ascended. I was there when she and Andruil were bonded. And I was already a general at Mythal’s side when Ghilan’nain came to her for aid. Andruil had cast her aside. She was longer and longer away, leaving even her most trusted retinue behind during the expansive hunts she led. And yet, she often returned without game of any kind. Ghilan’nain tired of the secrecy. She ordered her own slaves to follow Andruil. But they always failed. At last, she employed her magic and changed her form into that of a great stag. Andruil chased her for a time, but as soon as they had left the sight of the hunting party, Andruil gave up and turned aside. Ghilan’nain changed into a small bird and followed her into a dark cave. Down and down it went, until a strange ruby light began to fill the chambers. There, in the deepest heart of the Sundermount, Anaris was waiting. Ghilan’nain witnessed the reunion and understood it was but one of many. She fled back to Mythal, who heard her complaint and begged her to say nothing to Elgar’nan. Ghilan’nain agreed, so long as Andruil return to her, for good. 

It took many heated arguments between mother and daughter, of which I saw many. But at last, Andruil agreed to give up Anaris again and swore many oaths upon it, rather than be exposed as a traitor to her father’s will. She said nothing of the red crystals. And for many years, we thought the matter resolved. If Mythal had known, then— _that_ is the moment, Solas. If there was a time to prevent the blight, that was it. If Mythal had sealed it away then, it never would have surfaced. If she had destroyed Anaris, the infection, too, might have died away from the titan. But none of us knew, until it was too late. So it festered, the blight and Anaris’s rage and Andruil’s bitterness. Until they met again and he gave her a mighty gift. A terrible gift. The red spear and the scarlet armor. It was you that unraveled the purpose of it, though you did not know.”

“Me?” asked Solas, “I had never seen the spear or the armor before I delivered the message from Mythal. And it was much too late by then. The blight had already destroyed her lands.”  
“Too late to stop the blight, but not Mythal’s death. Your message bought us time. She and Anaris meant to destroy Mythal and Elgar’nan. They meant to step into their place, new leaders, new gods, more powerful even than the others. I do not know how you will enter the story any earlier, but by then it will be too late. You cannot stop the blight once it is loose.” Abelas shook his head. “No. You _must_ arrive before Anaris is banished, or all will be lost. Even so— I am uncertain that any except for Mythal would not reach for the power of the red lyrium with both hands, even knowing the price. And why would she believe you? You would be unknown to her.”  
“But she would not be unknown to _me_. Perhaps what I know of who she values, what she truly longs for, will help me convince her.”  
Abelas smiled sadly. “People change, Solas. The woman you knew was three centuries older. Kinder and also more resolved. She had begun to understand that peace at any price was not truly peace. Mythal at the time of Anaris was hesitant to challenge the others. She held the peace, first by agreeing to banish Anaris and hunt down a few of the titans, and then by persuading Elgar’nan to accept Ghilan’nain as recompense for Andruil’s loss. But that peace came at the price of the people. Another five centuries of slavery and a new war with those they had banished. The Mythal you knew understood it could not last, not without some change. She was willing to risk a break with the others if it meant a better life eventually. She was willing to start another war to bring about a lasting peace. But her younger self would never have seen it that way. Not even if you told her of the blight.”

“Then I shall have to deal with Anaris, myself.”  
“And leave them all in servitude?” asked Abelas. “Without the threat of the blight, Mythal never would have freed you.”  
“You underestimate me,” said Solas. “You think if that opportunity had not presented itself that I would never have looked for another?”  
“I think you would have looked and failed. Or been banished for your efforts.”  
“A price I am willing to risk for that younger self. It is better than the loss of an entire world.”  
“Hmm. You forget that I knew that younger version of you. I watched you walk through a thousand other, hardier warriors and boldly offer to take the message to Andruil. I heard you ask your freedom in return, as if you had every right to it.”  
“I _did_ ,” insisted Solas, “We all did.”  
Abelas smiled. “But no one else dared to demand it. You would not have submitted to banishment. Not then. Not even now. For that, I am glad. I don’t know what would have happened to our people if you did.”  
“It is a risk we must take. I cannot leave things as they are. Someone else must free them, if I am gone. I cannot prevent every tragedy alone.”  
“I am not even certain you can prevent this one alone,” said Abelas. They slid into a solemn silence and the sound of other elves drifted in from the rooms above. They already seemed the echo of something long past.


	87. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8RovEKNrpM&index=56&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“How long are you going to let that lip bleed?” asked Vhemanen with a frown.  
Solas looked up from the completed amulet in front of him. “As long as it takes to heal,” he answered. “Ilan earned the blood he drew and Abelas is proud of him, though he won’t say. I’ll leave the badge to remind him. It’ll do no harm.”  
“Do you think it wise to let them see you are vulnerable? The others would have killed the elf who dared to draw their blood. And we both know that you are still holding back.”  
“Less every day. They have all come far farther than I expected. I begin to have more hope. Perhaps it is foolish.” He pressed a finger to the split. “And that it shows I am vulnerable— that _all_ the Evanuris are, is a good reason to leave it. Even if they were not to face the others, I would not let them think me a god. But the coming battle— it is important for them to know that none of the Evanuris are invulnerable.”  
Vhemanen shook her head, obviously thinking it was foolish. But she held out a rolled cloth to him. “Something to sweeten the sting, then,” she said. He took it, staring curiously at it.

“It came from Servolus.”  
 _Servolus. Tevinter then._ He looked up at Vhemanen. “Yes,” she said, “It’s from her. An old waystation, Servolus said. The eluvians are long gone, but the amplifier remained.”  
He gripped the bundle more tightly. “Thank you,” he said. “It has been…”  
“A long while,” she finished for him.  
“Yes.”  
“We would have heard if she were still in peril, Solas. The entire continent speaks of her. You hardly even need your agents.”  
He touched the cut on his lip again, testing it, pressing it. As if the smaller pain of the wound could diminish the larger one in his chest. “She is adept at hiding her injuries. She has as many reasons to conceal _her_ vulnerability as I have to expose mine. Still, you are right. I would have known. But— having this is a relief.”  
Vhemanen patted his shoulder. “I need to help Loranil pack for his journey. He wishes to be back in Skyhold before her.” 

He nodded absently as she left, shuffling down the stone steps. He turned the thin bundle. It was bound with one of the leather laces she used for her hair. He untwined it only to wrap it again around his wrist. The cloth was canvas, stiff with salt and he caught a strong scent of the sea as he unfolded it. Inside lay the long slender shell of a razor clam, its outer layer flaking under his touch. It hinged open, the pearl interior luminescent with veilfire and a slim roll of parchment lying in the small hollow. He set the shell carefully next to the amulet and unrolled the letter. She had landed in Tevinter long before, he knew. Already the river beside Skyhold would be moving again, thick and tumbling with broken ice. Already the farms in the Hinterlands would be hitching up their druffalo to plows. Already, Solas began to imagine the creep of the anchor taking hold again, strangling her wrist, her arm, her heart. He rubbed at his cut, pressing hard. It opened again, a metallic tinge meeting his tongue, but it focused him enough.

You told me, once, that the sea was empty of dream and memory. That it was desolate and quiet because so few of us had passed there, compared to all the unchanging history of it. But I have found one. A dream or a memory, I do not know. It has troubled me for many weeks. I fear I’ve made a grave error, fanor, and I miss your counsel along with so many other things. 

You told me you would always be my friend. That you would not leave as long as I had need of you. I have need of you now, my love, more than ever I had before. Where _are_ you?

It should have been an easy trip. The weather, though cold, was calm and clear. Dorian kept Cole and I hidden away for most of it. I think he was worried the sailors would be rough, though none but the porter at the docks was anything but kind. He would let us out at night, when only the watch and the helmsman were awake. Cole liked the quiet. Dorian told me the star stories of Tevinter on the nights we could see them and we played cards in the sea air when we could not. 

He was telling me the story of Toth when the anchor began to sting and the watchman called down to the helmsman in fear. The helmsman sounded the alarm and left us bewildered on the deck. All that we could see was a distant glowing mist that rolled closer, bubbling and slithering across the dark, slow water. Cole drifted over to us. “They are stuck,” he said, “In one of the between places. They thought they wanted this world, bright and fixed and solid. Homesick, now, so heavy with guilt and time and loneliness. They cannot escape. Permanent slaves to the passions of sailors that pass. You could set them free. Send them home. They will beg you not to. But it would be kind, Inquisitor.”

Dorian leaned so far over the side to see that I feared he’d fall in. “What _is_ it?” he asked. “An island?”   
I could feel the rift pulling at the anchor, heavy and stinging, but the men had run up to the deck before I could tell him and I held my tongue. We were meant to be traveling in secret and I knew he would see soon enough.  
One of the sailors pulled him back before he could topple in. “It’s the Windline Marcher,” said the man.  
“Kaffas,” swore the man next to him, “It isn’t.”  
Dorian asked them what the Windline Marcher was and the first man looked shocked that he hadn’t heard the story. I heard a man muttering a prayer to Falon’din under his breath behind us and I turned to him. I told him it would be alright, and he told me no ship survived long after seeing the Marcher. A ghost ship, ages old. We could see the masts solidifying through the mist. Its sails were unfurled, but barely more than tattered streamers. They could not hold the wind, even if there’d been one.

“I should have stayed with my clan,” cried the man.   
“Peace, Lethallin,” I answered, “I’ll send it away.”  
The man sneered and began to protest, but I stripped the glove from my hand and showed him the anchor. Dorian groaned, but I knew we could not hide it any longer.   
“We must close the rift,” I told him, “Or it will draw in other ships and other spirits. We cannot leave it.”  
“You might try, Lethallan,” said the man beside me. “Of all people who could, it would be you— but none have ever caught the Marcher. Not in a hundred years.”  
“It will let us catch it,” said Cole. “The spirits are tired.”  
The man shook his head, but the captain had overheard. He told the helmsman to steer toward the ship. We could see its prow, the timbers warped and blackened, little more than bare ribs. Yet still, it floated.   
“You aren’t in armor,” Dorian protested, “and your staff is somewhere in the steerage—”  
And it only made me think of you. Trading dreams and shooting pebbles with ice and sparks. I did not need my staff. “You have always been my shield,” I told him, and Dorian sighed, but made no more argument. Some of the sailors began to argue with the captain, but he kept them from outright mutiny by grabbing my arm and lifting it up. 

“The Marcher dooms everyone who sees it. We’re already cursed, men. But the Maker sent _her_. We can make certain it never lures another sailor to their deaths,” he said. The men were silent around us and Cole was wringing his hands. Dorian was twitching, the way he does just before a spell leaves his fingers and I knew we were in trouble. But the captain just barked an order and the whole ship was moving with men and rope and lanterns, leaving the three of us like the still eye of the storm. 

We pulled alongside the Marcher. It was smaller than I had imagined. Smaller than our own ship and the three of us were lowered down by ropes. Dorian threatened eternal torment if they left us behind, but the man who had been whispering to Falon’din held my hand a moment and promised he would not leave one of the People on the Void-spawned ship. I believed him. I think Cole did too, because he expressed no unease at leaving the ship. But then— I suppose it might not have mattered so much to him. He can survive where Dorian and I would not.  
Be at ease, emma lath, you are reading this now, and I am not lost on a ghost ship. Still, I fear I have not escaped its curse. Or I was cursed already, long before the sea.  
The boards that remained were like stones beneath our feet. Uncreaking. Cold. And the ropes and remnants of the sails twisted as if in a harsh wind, yet I felt nothing. 

“Any suggestions, Dorian?” I asked and he looked at me as if I were mad.  
“This was _your_ idea, sorora,” he said. “I believed you had some plan.”  
“I do. We’re going to close the rift. But I know very little of ghosts. I thought perhaps you might know more.”  
Dorian shuddered. “Bodies. I know bodies. And little echoes of emotion that can be called to use. Not— this. Nor do I wish to.”  
“They aren’t ghosts,” said Cole. He pointed to the mast and several figures climbed quickly down. They were beautiful and terrible. 

The writing broke off and the next line had been crossed through. Solas passed his hand over it with a gentle spell to pull the original letters to the top. “For a moment I thought I saw you among them.” Spirits of desire. Of longing. Of love or loss perhaps. Fitting for a ship that ought to have sunk centuries ago. Perhaps drawn by the original tragedy. Or after, during the Breach, drawn through to the memories that lingered in its timbers. He let the spell fade, the words sinking into an indecipherable tangle of ink and old water smears. There was more to the letter.

They crowded close and Cole pushed them back. “She’s not meant to be eaten,” he said. And I felt a sudden chill at the idea that it was me they had wanted. Dorian’s barrier was shimmering around us before I realized what was happening.  
“We came to help,” I said.  
“We are so hungry,” said one. “And we can take away your sorrow. You don’t need it. You don’t want it.” Their hands pressed against the barrier, slender and elegant and— Dorian tugged me backward toward him.   
“Don’t listen, sorora. Their promises are never so simple as they seem. Close the rift and we’ll put this behind us.”  
I raised my hand, but one of them called out for me to stop. She was— separate from the others. “I can give you what you most desire,” she said.  
“You cannot,” I answered, knowing it would only ever be an illusion, a mockery of _you_ , Vhenan. But she knew. How do they always know? Am I so transparent?   
She said, “Not _him_. I can give you what is necessary to keep the real him. Not one of these— _wisps_.” She waved a dismissive hand at the others. “I have been here much longer. Longer even than him. I was here when the blight was new. Before. I know the cure, Inquisitor. I can give it to you.”  
“In return for what?” I asked.

Cole looked at me as if I’d slapped him. And Dorian hissed a protest at me, but— how could I not ask? Was she lying? Are they capable of lying?   
“Let me stay. Share your skin. I only wish to experience this world. All I have seen is this rotting ship and the endless dark waves. You will not even notice me—”  
“ _No_ , Inquisitor,” pleaded Cole, and he clung to me, as if I’d already said yes. Dorian shoved us behind him as the spirit pressed harder against the barrier. He raised a hand to blast her with a spell, and I stopped him. Forgive me, fanor, I stopped him.   
“If she can solve the blight,” I said, “What is one elf against the whole world?”  
“Yes,” said the spirit, “I can solve it. And my request is not so dire. I only wish to experience this place. Just as you do, Compassion.”  
Cole shook his head. “He would tell you, ‘Everything. More than everything.’ That is what you are worth. He would not want you to, not even for this.”  
“We’ll find it without her, sorora. We’re close, you and I and Vivienne. You do not need to trade yourself,” said Dorian.  
But their arguments failed to convince me. Alas, I am not as strong as I believed, once. The spirit circled the barrier, watching me, scattering the others, who cried out in dismay.

“How many days will you waste, Inquisitor? You have so few remaining. So very few. You _may_ find the cure. But will it be in time? You think the Fade-walker does not suffer? You think he has forgotten you? I may no longer be able to move through my old world as I once did, but I do not need to in order to know. I have met countless men over the centuries. He has not forgotten. And yet, you would draw out this cruelty needlessly. All that you seek could be yours. Now. All that I ask is for a taste. A tiny corner of your mind. The touch of grass and fabric on skin. The smell of warm dirt and fur. The taste of a lover.”

I confess, only to you, Vhenan, it was no noble sacrifice that made me raise the anchor and rip the rift still wider. It was not the world I thought of as I shoved them one after another back through the Veil and snapped it closed again. The thought of something else using my mouth to speak to you, my hands to touch you— it was no honorable impulse, but base jealousy and repulsion that made me reject her offer.   
Oh, my love, what have I done? Have I thrown away our only chance to stop this? Have I ruined an entire world for the sake of myself? I have sought the spirit in my dreams to take it back, to amend it, but I have not found it in all the weeks since. Cole tries to tell me it was the right choice, that you would even understand the reasons, but I wonder if he only tries to comfort me. Dorian does not know. He thinks I had a sudden return to sanity. That I have shaken myself free, at last. I do not tell him where I walk in my dreams. He will be safe, here, soon enough without me. 

I hope you will forgive me, for none other ever will.

 

At the bottom in a small scrawl was one more line. “You will worry, but the demon is dead. It would have sucked her dry. I couldn’t let it.” It could only be from Cole. He put the letter down, deep in thought. That the spirit was lying, he had no doubt. Or— if it was not, that it would have used her as Corypheus used the Wardens. The deal was a poor one. She might gain the knowledge she sought, but she’d never have been free to use it. It was gone, Cole said, but there would be others. Would she accept the next offer? It was not her resolve, alone, that was crumbling. But would having him there truly have altered anything? She would have been as desperate for the cure, even at his side. She would still have considered it, even as he pleaded with her not to. The enormous stone that they’d held between them after the battle with Corypheus, he hadn’t forgotten that. She was too ready to give herself away. She could not see her true value. He’d failed to show her what she meant. He picked up the clam shell, rolling it between his fingers a moment, considering. The amulet was finished. He spent the majority of his days, now, listening to Abelas recount all he could remember of the crucial period when Anaris plotted, or in training with his people. In truth, he was only waiting now. Testing the Veil. Testing the pull of her. Creeping toward the end.

So was she. Her plans were in place, the third ship of escaped slaves had already landed in Kirkwall. They were quiet and subtle, but Solas’s agents knew who to watch for. Smooth and self-sustaining, she had even prepared clans to take in some of them, dispersing them well throughout Ferelden. It would be years until they were caught, unless someone betrayed them from the inside. And her task in Tevinter was through. Would they even miss her? What was stopping him?

He played with the shell, hinging it open, and the letters caught the lamplight. He leaned toward it to read. “Strength” it said.

They were on the sea road, winding back to Haven from the Storm Coast, camping just above the waterline. The sun was just sinking over the water and Iron Bull’s Chargers were singing around a large bonfire. The Inquisitor was kneeling in the sand below. Cole was beside her.  
“I got one!” he cried in surprise. She looked over, pulled the muddy clam from his fingers.   
“Sorry, Cole,” she said, “It’s empty. A gull got it first.” The boy’s smile fell. “It’s pretty, though,” she added, washing it in the salt water. She handed it back to him and he looked satisfied. He looked up at the bonfire, watching Iron Bull.  
“He seems very strong,” said Cole.  
“Yes,” agreed Lavellan, but she was not looking at Iron Bull. She was watching Solas in the smaller camp beyond. One of the soldiers had been injured in a fall from the rocky bluffs beyond. It was why they’d made camp so early in the afternoon. She’d taken Solas aside, offered to heal the man herself, but he’d quietly refused.

“I am capable, Lethallan,” he’d said.  
“I know you are _capable_ , Solas,” she’d said, “but the man insulted you just this morning. He should not expect empathy of you now.”  
“He may not expect it of me, but I do. It was only a few words, easily forgotten.”  
“And a blow.” She touched the side of his ear gently, hesitantly, still uncertain how she felt about him. “You should not have to bite your tongue about it.”  
He shrugged. “I don’t have to. I choose to. For my own peace. And—” he’d smiled wryly, “it will probably prove more uncomfortable for him to be healed by a ‘skeevy knife-ear’ than it will be for me to do it. Is that not revenge enough?”  
He’d gone to do it, and she’d left camp with Cole, her own anger burning a hole inside her.

“You should tell him,” said Cole, tucking the shell experimentally into his hatband. “Nobody else thinks of him as strong. Not like Iron Bull. I think he would like it. He likes being seen in new ways. It happens so rarely.”  
She was silent a moment, sinking her toes into the sand. “I don’t know Iron Bull well yet. I’m sure he is strong, in his way. Maybe even the same way as Solas, but people always know. It’s never hidden with Iron Bull.” She pulled a broken clam shell from the small wooden bucket of water and handed it to Cole. “You would think that one is inferior. That it’s weak because of the crack. But— try to open it.”  
He pried at the edges of the shell, at the broken lip, at the cracks. She let him try for a few minutes. “You see?” she asked. “It isn’t the shell that is strong, but the animal inside.”  
“You very much want to see him inside,” said Cole, placing the clam back in the bucket.  
“Yes,” she sighed, “But not by prying him open. I don’t want to hurt him.”  
“Solas is not a clam,” said Cole.  
She laughed. “I know. But he definitely has a shell to keep out the world.”

Cole held up another shell, smaller, round in front of her face. He dropped it into her palm. “Solas is a hermit crab. A little warmth—” he blew across her hand. “And a little patient stillness—”  
A leg emerged, and then another, claw and head and the thing scuttled around for a moment. There was a shout of “filthy rabbit” from the camp and the Inquisitor looked up. Solas walked calmly down to the beach kneeling beside her to dip bloody hands into the salt water.  
“That’s a pretty shell, Cole,” he said, glancing over.  
“She thinks what’s inside is prettier still,” mumbled Cole and the Inquisitor blushed.  
“Oh?” said Solas. He hadn’t noticed. Likely hadn’t even been thinking of her then, between the abuse by the soldier and his own ignorant opinion of her at the time. He’d thought Cole had be speaking of the shell. The memory faded in the heat of his own shame. A feeling she hadn’t put into it. 

This was not worthy of her, this prolonged doubt and sorrow. He should have held his tongue. He never should have put the burden of what was coming upon her. He should never have needed her as he did. He stood up, looking for his traveling gear. It was time to bring her home.  
But a commotion below caught his ear and Ilan came running up the stairs, Loranil close on his heels.  
“What’s happened?” asked Solas.  
“Qunari,” gasped Ilan, “Qunari in the network.”  
“Urenna has been killed. They are trying to reach Skyhold,” added Loranil.  
Vhemanen made it up the stairs at last, hovering and worried on the landing. He glanced between the three of them.  
“Loranil,” he said, “You must return. The long way. I won’t risk anyone until I’m certain our eluvians have not been breached. When you get to Skyhold, say nothing. Cullen will stop an assassination, but he’ll act too fast. We need to know what they are doing. Watch and wait. I will contact you.” The boy nodded and darted back down the stairs. He turned to Ilan. “Warn Abelas,” he said, “tell him to pull the agents back unless I signal. I want all of the eluvians in Arlathan guarded. The Qun will not enter here.” Ilan looked frightened but agreed and followed Loranil.  
“And you, Solas?” asked Vhemanen at last, waiting as he searched for the staff that she was already holding out for him. “What are you going to do?”  
“I? I am going hunting,” he said. “The Dread Wolf has found his teeth again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, novel crunch time again and kids are home for the summer. I'll try and pick up the pace, I promise!


	88. Arming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rS5Eb2q27OU

Abelas was pacing beside the dark eluvian when Solas arrived. “This is folly,” he barked. “So they’ve found one key. They will soon leave again. There is nothing left for them.”  
“Are you certain?” asked Solas.  
“A few ruins. Bare stones still leaning into one another. That is all.”  
“There is more in the Crossroads, even for the Qunari to stumble over. I cannot risk more power falling into their hands. And where they have mastered one eluvian, they will unlock more. They must not be allowed to wander the network. The way must be clear when we call our army home.”  
“Then why not send the forces you have? You are the only one who can undo all of this. Why are you risking yourself?”

Solas fought a laugh. He had not shown them the true extent of his new power yet. He had not intended to. “I am more formidable than I appear,” was all he said, and lifted his hand to open the closed eluvian.  
“We do not know how many Qunari have infiltrated the network.”  
“All the more reason to stop them.”  
Abelas sighed. “Even the strongest can be overwhelmed, Solas. Take some of us with you. Take me with you, at least.”  
“No. I am not unprepared for failure. The amulet is complete. If I do not return, it falls to you, Abelas, to employ it. The Veil will fall without me, and then the spell will be powerful enough.”  
“But the Inquisitor strengthens it—”  
Solas shook his head. “For a few months more. If I do not draw the power from the anchor again, she will die within the year. And the Veil will fall within five.” 

Abelas did not appear comforted. Solas took a step back from the mirror to face him. “You are a valued ally. If I intended to battle the Qunari, there are few others I would trust to lead our forces. But I would give them a chance to retreat and arriving in large numbers will push them to fight. There has been more than enough death. I wish to avoid more, even if I am no friend of the Qun.”  
“I have been out of the world for a long time. I do not know much of these Qunari, but what our people tell me is concerning. You truly think they will retreat?”  
“No. I do not,” said Solas. “But I must extend the offer, even so. It is— the fulfillment of a promise.”

“Then— if you will not take aid, at least arm yourself.” Abelas tugged at Solas’s patched sleeve with a frown. “These people will not retreat before a lone elf in simple robes. If you wish to convince them to leave without bloodshed, you must make them believe you are capable of it.” He turned to one of the Sentinels waiting nearby and beckoned. The Sentinel bent to pick up a large chest that lay at her feet. “We searched for your old armor, but it has long been lost. And Vhemanen said when last she saw you, it was rent in many places beyond repair.”  
The Sentinel set the chest before him and opened the lid. “We have forged a new suit. One that will show your enemies that the Dread Wolf walks the world again,” she said, lifting the gleaming helm from inside. It was instantly recognizable, a stylized snarling wolf with long diamond vents in the conventional pattern of the Dread Wolf’s eyes. Solas doubted the Qunari would care, if they even understood it. He took the helm. It was a mask he had never wanted, but his people cared enough to shield him. He would not refuse it. 

“Thank you,” he said, twisting it in his hands, tracing the sturdy metal where it was etched into warding runes. It would have taken the smith weeks. “This is a mighty gift.”  
Abelas and the Sentinel knelt beside the chest to pull forth the gousset and the clawed sabatons. “I can—” started Solas, but Abelas shot him a warning glance.  
“We should be sure of the fit,” he said, lifting the gousset over Solas’s head.   
“Yes, thank you,” answered Solas, yielding. Someone took the helm and staff from him. The gousset rang slightly as it fell over him, a sudden weight. Someone tapped his foot and Solas lifted it, feeling the snug slide of the sabaton over his foot wrappings. The metal was cool and smooth on the inside.   
It was not the first time someone had insisted on arming him. Solas closed his eyes for a moment, submitting to the clang of metal and the shift of others moving around him.

What little time had remained after showing the Inquisitor what was coming, he had clung to. He’d never returned to his own bed after their journey to Crestwood. He’d tried to persuade himself that he was happy. That _she_ was happy. Only enjoying the opportunity to be close. In truth, he had been terrified.  
The lie had caught up to him, robbed him of his peace, and he had lain awake beside her for long hours every night. She’d woken once, shifting and reaching in the dark, her hand a winking star that crept along the bedclothes until it found him leaning against the headboard. Her head had lifted from the pillow, following the hand, searching. “Solas, are you well?” she asked, still bleary. He caught her hand against his chest, hiding the light, hiding his face from her.

“Yes, Vhenan,” he lied.  
She hadn’t believed him. “It’s almost dawn. What keeps you from sleep?” She sat up, her other hand traced his face, clumsy with sleep and darkness.   
“Only a bad dream. I am well, you should return to your rest.” He drew her fingers through his own even as he said it, needing the touch.  
“A bad dream? But it was you that showed me how to push them away. You’ve mastered the Fade, how can it be that dreams trouble _you_? Is it— is someone interfering?”  
“No. It is only my own worry that haunts me. No spirit. I find when I turn away from one disastrous thought, another crops up in its wake, a seemingly unending chain—”  
She folded around him. “All will be well,” she said, though he barely heard. The warmth of the sudden contact, the solid weight of her arms, her chest, the sharp press of her chin into his shoulder spoke far louder. 

“How?” he asked.  
“We’ll find a cure. Or pull the dwarves from their caverns and collapse the deep roads. Or— or figure out how Corypheus controls it and turn the method against the Blight. Drive it away. I’ll find a way. Don’t despair.”  
He was silent, having no answer for her. The solutions were unattainable. Fantasy. All of it was. _She_ was. He pressed the thought away as unfair, unworthy. If she could have hope, wounded with his own magic, and so very mortal, then how much more ought he to have? 

“When I was young, just discovering my magic, I used to be too frightened to sleep,” she said tilting to whisper it into his ear. “I had a friend whose parents were city elves. They joined us when I was small. She was not pleased when I started my apprenticeship. She would tell me terrible stories of mages who lost their minds as they slept when she thought no one was listening. At last, I grew so exhausted that I tumbled from my mother’s aravel as we changed camps. I had fallen asleep sitting against the doorframe as we rolled along. After the entire caravan halted and a large fuss was made, I had to admit that I was scared of my dreams. The clan thought it a bad omen, but Deshanna took me into her own aravel and the caravan moved on again. She was quiet for many miles, cleaning the scrapes I’d gotten from the fall. At last, she said, ‘You are too old to be frightened of nightmares, da’len.’ I was ashamed and stayed silent. ‘The others are nervous. They worry that you will make yourself vulnerable to an unkind spirit,’ she told me.   
‘I fear that too,’ I told her.  
‘Do you know what a dream is?’ she asked me. ‘It is your mind practicing what your body failed. It is your will finding the path that you overlooked. If you allow it, your spirit will triumph in the battles that the waking world tells you are impossible. But you must go armed and shielded.’” She drew back to look at him, her marked hand glowing around his chin. “Will you allow me to arm you?”

The greaves were tightened around his calves, snapping carefully closed as Abelas buckled them. The cuisse next, heavier than it appeared. His fingers twitched in a mild cooling spell as the metal warmed.

“Yes,” he’d said, uncertain what to expect, but desperate enough for sleep that he did not care. She sat up, her hands moving and a slow trickle of whispered words rustled around him. Slow streams of light trailed from the windows and gathered at her fingertips.   
“The light of the moons to help you see clearly even in the deepest Fade. One for each eye,” she said and the pads of her fingers stroked lightly over each of his eyelids, the glow becoming a tingle beneath his skin. Her hands retreated and his eyes opened. The throb of powerful voices in song filled the room as she cast. The tune was ancient, older even than he, an echo of strength. He wondered where she had heard it. Was it something Deshanna had done? She pressed a palm to his chest and his pulse changed with a sudden wrench. It aligned with the tune, even as it faded from the air around him, thrumming, shaking his bones from within. It was a sudden jolt of energy, something he’d been long in need of. “The voice of our people,” she said, “that you may endure as long as they and their song push out any that would distract you or break your focus.”

The cuirass squeezed his torso. Abelas tugged on it, securing it and giving him space to breathe. Over it the leather straps of his cloak and the clink of the finely etched pauldrons sliding into place. “A moment more,” said Abelas. Solas tried to remain still.

There had been a spark, vibrant blue, overwhelming the faded green of the anchor. Veilfire collecting and swirling between them. It floated in a growing globe. And then another. And another. Until they appeared like a mass of stars upon the air. “A thousand times a thousand spells of protection. All my love to guard you,” she said, and it was his only warning. The veilfire slid across his skin in a thousand rune shapes, ward upon ward and he gasped as hundreds of memories flickered through him as they were completed, flickering out. A flurry of touches, hands and lips, of words, of smiles and spells and dancing whirled past him. At first he clutched at them, rocks in a flood of love. Memories he was desperate to keep. But it was too rapid and he feared missing any. He let go, plunging into a single bright moment of happiness. Of realizing how well he had loved her, of how _much_ she loved him. It was over too quickly, when he wished for an eternity. But it left only a warm calm in its wake, a flush of reassurance and hope that he would have pushed away only minutes before. He surfaced, finding his hand wrapped around hers and her eyes still brightly reflecting the aqua runes that glimmered on his bare flesh.

He brought the gauntlet up to look as his fingers tested them. Small plates over flexible chain. They were well crafted for casting. Abelas held out the helm to him. He was severe. No more persuasion for Solas to stay. All that remained was a general arming his commander. Solas lifted the wolf’s face over his head. He felt as if he were looking out at the world from behind a bright and stifling cage. Even light breath huffed and growled through the vents as if he really were more beast than man. He raised a hand and muttered the spell to open the eluvian.  
“Fight well, if you must. And know that we will be there at a call,” said Abelas.  
“I will not be long,” said Solas, “see to the other mirrors. Do not let any pass here until I return. The Qunari have many spies.”  
“And if you do not return?” asked Abelas.  
“Then I know our people will be in your care. That gives me comfort. And it will fall to you to decide who may battle beside you. Do not fear for me. Elves are not the only creatures who guard the Crossroads. I will see you before the Dawn Lotus blooms.”  
He stepped through the eluvian before Abelas could protest.

“And every spare breath to sustain you wherever I cannot be,” she’d said, and pressed a kiss to his lips. No spell then, just her, and yet he thought he felt the sizzle of lightning pass from her and into him. And the scent of ozone lingered in his memory of the moment though he’d known there was no magic in it. “Are you ready, emma lath?” she murmured against his mouth.   
“For battle? Yes. But—” he laughed against her, his fingers gliding over the warm skin of her back, “I fear you have left me incapable of sleep for the moment.”  
She had pushed back, just for an instant. She’d held his face in her hands and stared at him. “It is hard not to doubt. Especially when the world seems indifferent to our fears. I seem— _small_ to you. What can I do against an ocean of Blight that the Dread Wolf has not already tried? But a rashvine seed is no bigger than a speck of dust in the beginning, yet given time it will shatter a mountain. And there is time. I am growing. When you despair, let me hope for us both. You have named me Vhenan. As long as there is a heartbeat remaining, I will not falter.”

_Nor will I, my love_ , he thought, emerging in the Crossroads.


	89. Saarebas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5t5QSiydF9Y&index=57&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

Urenna’s blood still darkened the stones beside the watchtower. Solas paused to brush his gauntlet over the spot. She had received traditional rites because it was what his people had wanted, but he knew it was inadequate. A blaze of veilfire lit the stone under his fingers and then her name shone out for any who cared to see, for as long as the stone remained. He had found no other sign of the Qunari. They were taking care, perhaps realizing that Urenna had been a scout. It mattered little. He had time and the Crossroads were as familiar as Skyhold, even after the destruction of the Veil. That they had struck so closely to Morrigan’s eluvian, however, was troubling. He hoped she’d removed it from Skyhold. 

What were they doing here? If they could take other eluvians, the network was a deadly tool, almost tailored for invasion. Solas shuddered at the thought. But Abelas had been right. As far as he knew, they’d only managed to open one. It would be a dead end. And if they refused to retreat… there were many spirits who would defend the Crossroads. He had only to ask for their aid.  
He found the first scout sleeping on a sunny rock shelf beside an active mirror. They were at ease then. Unhurried. They did not know to fear. He would rectify that. He strode up to the man lying sprawled in front of the eluvian and grasped him by the collar, pulling him to his knees. The man struggled. “Teth a bas!” roared Solas. The vents in the helm made it deeper and harsher, the words a long growl. The qunari snarled, twisting to reach for the sword at his hip. Solas flicked his free hand and the sword ripped free of its sheath, tumbling down the stones.

“Saarebas!” spat the qunari.  
“Oh, _yes_ ,” he agreed slowly. “I am dangerous. More than you know. This place is _mine_.” He hauled the man to his feet, the long snout of the helm just an inch from the qunari’s nose. “You have trespassed in Fen’harel’s lair. By rights, I should rend your spirit from the flesh and leave you a viddath-bas. Or shatter your sword and return you soulless to your own people.” His fingers twitched and the sword flung back toward them stopping to hover near the qunari’s ear. He let a thick pattern of frost creep over it and the metal began to creak in protest.  
“Lone elf. You are easily defeated,” cried the qunari.  
Solas laughed. The low, stuttering howl the sound made through the helm made even him uneasy. “And yet you have not struck me. What will your sten say when I return you as a prisoner? Asleep at your post, bested by a solitary elf?”

The man writhed, trying to reach Solas or his own blade, but the simple spell holding him did not allow for much movement. _Not enough,_ thought Solas, _this fear is mild. He will dismiss this, keep it silent. I need him to run screaming from this place and persuade others never to return._ It was regrettable. But it was better than slaughter. At least— he hoped it was.  
“I have not convinced you? Very well. Perhaps my friends will. I have business with your commander.” The blade between them cracked, a long spidering line running along the edge. Solas released it and it fell with a clang. The qunari cried out, but the blade remained in one piece. A warning. “Elgara, athlan ma,” he began, and already felt a thickening, a pressure building at his back. “Sul Elvhen. Sul Fen’harel. Min an amaan. Ar nuven’in ma.”  
The horror in the qunari’s face told Solas that spirits were materializing around them. 

“Ar’an hartha, Fen’harel,” came the answer, sibilant and sharp over his shoulder. Solas ended the spell holding the qunari. The man fell in a heap. For an instant, he only stared dazed, muttering something under his breath. Then he scooped up the sword at his knee and sprinted away, shrieking about demons and madness in jumbled Qunlat.   
“Thank you, my friend,” said Solas, turning to face the spirit who had spoken. One he knew well, as it happened. “I will try to drive the others away, but I think they will grow bold again and return. These Qunari fear nothing more than failure. They will not stop.”  
“Ar’an inanir,” said the spirit. It touched the helm, indicating it knew well, who lay beneath it. “Tel sul Fen’harel. Ar’an inanir sul telir Solas.”  
“Do you remember the passwords?”  
“Vin. Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris.”  
“Only our friends will know them.”  
The spirit offered him a low bow, which Solas returned. “Dareth shiral, falon,” it said.  
He turned and slid through the open eluvian. 

The tower was not one he recognized. It was more akin to the lost thaigs than it was of Arlathan’s curved and lofty forms— yet it was not wholly dwarven. He did not know this place. Had they moved the eluvian or had he simply never come here before? Someone shouted and he knew he’d been spotted. The clatter of armor on the stone steps of the tower told him there were many more qunari here. He pulled a simple ring of Fade fire around himself.   
A tall woman stopped just beyond the ring. She was leading a large man by a chain that hung from his neck. _Saarebas_ , he thought to himself in distaste. He closed his eyes for an instant, the Inquisitor’s words about the qunari echoing in his memory. _I will try another way, Vhenan,_ he thought, _if doing so will honor you._

“What are you doing here?” asked the woman. Solas was impressed at the ease with which she spoke Common.  
“I might ask the same. These eluvians belong to Fen’harel. You are trespassing in his domain.”  
The woman sneered. “Folk tales. The elven gods are long dead, if ever they were. Did you come here in some foolish crusade to honor them? They will not thank you.”  
Again, he was impressed that a qunari would bother to learn of their history, even if the conclusions were flawed. Perhaps the Inquisitor had been right. The woman took his silence for hesitation.  
“Fear not, basra, we are bringing the truth to the South. Abandon these false gods. You will find purpose in the Qun.”  
“And be like your saarebas? Chained and voiceless, a tool to be used by others?” Solas waved a hand toward the qunari man behind her. “Better he join me and become a person again.”  
“Saarath comprehends the Qun well. He is saarebas, as I am viddasala. This is our place in the natural order. There is no confusion. No doubt. No struggle. But _you_ are in pain, basra. You risk your life for a mistaken belief. For a god that does not value you, does not even know you exist. You come, alone, to drive us away. For what?” She waved a hand toward the stone tower. “Do you even know? There is nothing in there, basra. None of these people remain. Everything is gone. Issala.”  
“If all was dust, you would not be here,” said Solas.

The viddasala allowed a small smile to creep over her face. “Clever. Reckless, but clever.” She turned to the warriors that flanked her. “Vinek kathas!”  
Solas did not move. _Ir abelas, Vhenan. I am trying._  
One of the warriors leapt toward him only to grunt in surprise as his flesh touched the Fade flame. He crumpled just inside of Solas’s circle.  
The saarebas growled in his throat at the sight. “Saarath,” said the viddasala, releasing his chain, “Maravas Katara.”  
Still, Solas did not move. The warriors retreated a few paces and the saarebas raised his hands, shaking with power.   
“I warn you, I cannot allow you to kill me,” he said calmly.  
A massive wave of power pressed toward him as the saarebas released his spell. It washed over and past Solas’s barrier without harm. The qunari looked at their mage, a few swearing under their breath. Solas stepped forward, over the qunari that had died in the Fade flame, showing them the fire did not affect him. “These lands and the eluvians that you have opened belong to Fen’harel’s people. You are not welcome here.” One of the warriors grew bold and raised his arm to strike Solas with a massive blow. His blade crackled with frost and then shattered to the hilt before it could descend. Solas turned to look at him. “I spare you to honor a promise to another. It is all that stays my hand.” He glanced back at the viddasala. “But my patience is not endless. _Leave_. Do not return. I will not be kind when next we meet.” He cast a thick barrier of Fade flame behind them, cutting off access to the tower.

The saarebas made another guttural noise, but the viddasala just stared for a moment. He knew she itched to strike at him herself, an untethered mage loose to wreak havoc. “We have what we came for. Leave the basra to roll in the offal of his people,” she snapped. “When next we meet, you had better bring Fen’harel himself with you. For nothing short of a god will save you from the Dragon’s Breath.”  
He watched her men glance uneasily at her before following her through the eluvian. She had given him something the others did not approve of. What was this Dragon’s Breath? He stalked them back to their own eluvian and slammed it shut behind them, wrenching it into his own keeping. Abelas had been right. They would find others and return. The viddasala’s reaction told him they had probably already gained control of more eluvians. That or they did not yet realize that the allegiance of the mirrors could shift, given the correct knowledge. He would have to be wary. Their numbers would surely increase.   
He trekked back to the stone tower. He needed to know what this place was. Why the qunari had been drawn to it and what this Dragon’s Breath was. 

The warding spell of another plowed into him as soon as he crossed the threshold. He groaned and knelt on the stones, yanking the helmet from his head before he could vomit. “What is it?” he cried aloud, creeping back from the edge of it. He knew he had felt it before but—   
“Banal’vara. Tel’gara.”  
Solas squinted up at the spirit suddenly materializing at the gate. _Banished. That is where I’ve felt it before._ The center of power for a Forgotten one was always warded to keep others away, to keep others from building a cult around them. “Ehn?” he asked, already picking at the weave of the ward, trying to undo it.  
“Anaris,” answered the spirit.  
“But the qunari, why didn’t it affect them?” he muttered.  
“Tel’Elvhen,” it answered. He nodded. Of course Elgar’nan would not have cared what other creatures wandered in. The quicker these places crumbled, the better. Only the elves must stay away. Only those who could understand that the Evanuris had rivals. That they were not invulnerable. 

Unraveling the ward took most of his remaining strength. Wresting the eluvians from the Qunari had not been costless, and the warding spell was far more powerful. He was exhausted and the day was old before he managed to drag himself into the base of the tower. But he could not afford to leave it unexplored. Not when the qunari had turned their sights on Skyhold. But they would not make an attempt that night, not for many days. Qunari invasions were not haphazard. For that, he was oddly grateful. The tower’s secrets could wait until morning.  
 _Anaris again,_ he thought, placing his helmet beside him on the cool floor. He unbuckled the gauntlets and tried to peer into the dusk. Like Elgar’nan’s eidolon, he could see where large crystals of lyrium had been, tiny shards of blue remaining in the broken sockets. Someone had taken it. A great deal of it. The Evanuris? Or Anaris himself? Solas imagined him desperately filling the wagons and coming up short. Tearing apart his own tower just to have Andruil at his side. He could not reconcile that kind of passion for the Andruil he had known. But then the thought shamed him and he put it aside. 

He pulled off the pauldrons and folded his cloak. Had the viddasala come here on purpose? Or was it simply the only eluvian she could pry open in the Crossroads? And why did it even exist? He suspected Elgar’nan would have destroyed it, had he known. Perhaps it was Andruil’s doing. Or Mythal’s. He sighed in sudden relief as the weight of the cuirass and gousset fell away. The spirit still lingered nearby, watching him.  
“Sathan,” said Solas, unclamping the greaves. “Ma ghilana.”  
“Vin.” It came close, watching as he set aside the armor and lay down upon the cloak. He closed his eyes and slid easily into the Fade. 

The tug of the spirit was strong and he let it lead him to the echoes of the qunari in this place. They had been here longer than he had realized. Testing, scouting, reading. The mage seemed wrapped up in old texts about lyrium and the ancient thaigs. This troubled Solas. Did they know? Were they searching for the titan? Was it they who had shattered the mirror in the Brecillian forest? No, he thought, the Qunari have been trying to destroy magic for too long. They would not look for the lyrium. Especially since they sacrificed a dreadnought to stop it. He stood over the shade of the saarebas reading the same page. A map of the deep roads as they once were. _Do they intend to kill the titan? Have they discovered it supplies the south?_ A shudder ran through him at the thought. Killing one had been necessary. An act of self preservation to forestall the Blight, something Mythal and he had argued over multiple times before she led her armies into its belly. The victory had cost much. Not only of her own people, but the dwarven kingdoms were rent asunder, the ancient roads collapsing between them. Some were lost forever. Neither had the surface escaped unscathed. To deliberately chase down another— They couldn’t. Solas woke with a start. Skyhold was a distraction. He had to find their operation. And he had to warn the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I've got a short chunk this time, my brain has been slow lately, more soon!


	90. Crossing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5yKwYaq5Kf4&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=60

“Do not forget the words, or you will find the Crossroads closed to you,” Solas warned. “Watch, listen, but don’t risk yourselves.” He paused, felt the heaviness of the reality of it all. “Ultimately, the Qunari’s plan is a small threat compared to what we soon face. But we cannot abandon our friends if we are able to aid them. Skyhold and Kirkwall will have many new faces— the Inquisition’s efforts are moving refugees at a rapid pace, and it is easy for spies to slip in. Not just our own. Be vigilant. I will be waiting for word from you.” He let them go, the sea of faces winking out around him as they slipped from the Fade. Abelas, only, remained. 

“They deserve to know the real reason this concerns you,” he said.  
“That is what I have given them. If the Qunari destroy the titan in southern Thedas, it might destabilize the entire continent.”   
“The same continent that will be consumed by Blight within a few years. Or war in less.”  
“The outcome is still uncertain. We may yet—” began Solas.  
“No,” said Abelas, “there is nothing uncertain about what happens when the Veil falls. Six centuries ago, perhaps we had some hope of altering it. Not any longer. What these Qunari do— what any kingdom does now, it is a shadow play. Short lived and pointless.”  
“Perhaps, but I have no wish to see people suffer, even in the short term. The Qunari will not hesitate to harm any who stand in their way or enslave those willing to submit.”  
“So it is with every war. This one would be no different, except for one variable. It does not threaten Arlathan. It will not touch our people or their work. How many conflicts have passed through Thedas since you entered uthenera? No mere political shift has roused you in a thousand years.”  
“I was _wrong_ ,” Solas admitted. “I thought they were— simple. That their wars were no more painful or meaningful than a pack of hounds scrabbling over a piece of meat. If I had understood, if I had not been such a fool—” he broke off, the bitterness of it creating ripples in the Fade. “I am awakened. And I cannot stand by and watch them suffer.”

Abelas stared at him. “If that is so,” he asked, “then why do you delay? It could be over in moments. A simple spell and it would all be done. Instead, you build an army to battle the Evanuris. Yet, we both know the Evanuris will defeat them. But now it will take years. It suits my own purposes, but theirs? We only draw out our fate, we do not change it. And you encourage this useless search for some— cure, some way to conquer this terrible plague. I thought, at first, you’d given her this task to keep her from the madness that being idle can cause. But now— you seem to _believe_ it, Solas. And you linger and linger. You should have departed weeks ago. This— vendetta against the Qunari, this is not about Thedas. Had they chosen the human kingdoms you would not have blinked. Had they chosen to invade the Imperium, you would not have altered your course, and that would be far more dangerous for Arlathan. You are delaying for the Inquisitor. And going to war for her. And delaying for her.”  
“No—”  
“ _Yes_. I do not fault you. Neither would the others. They would still follow you. It is a desire we all share. They, too, are doing this for love. Their families, their people, their world is also threatened by the Qunari. But they deserve to know.” He shook his head. “I am whistling into a hurricane, for it would mean admitting the truth to yourself first. Dawn approaches and there is still much to be done. Dareth shiral, Solas.” Abelas flickered out.

He woke slowly, the now familiar dwarven shapes of Anaris’s tower still shadowy in the early morning light. He resisted moving. Resisted the flood of thoughts that cropped up in the wake of the dream. He tried to focus on the sharp angles of the roof above, the precise cuts of each geometric carving. Underneath, he felt it building, the sorrow thickening and pressing into his conscious functions.  
“Cold and creaking, aching, dry dread as if the spells of Dirthamen were crawling under the skin again—”  
Solas sat up, but did not look toward Cole. “I would sooner have endured a hundred years of that torture than these past two. It has been far worse.” He shook his head and felt a bitter smile twist his face. “You don’t believe me. You think I have forgotten—”  
“No,” said Cole, “I can hear. You remember every moment. There are days that you wish you had never met her.”  
“ _Yes_ ,” he muttered and pressed a hand to his eyes. “But they are few compared to the days I wish _she_ had never met _me_.”  
“I have never heard her think the same.”  
“That does not make it better,” he said, looking over at last.  
“I know,” said the boy, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Why have you come? I did not wish you to see me this way. It can only cause us both more pain.”  
“To steal a place.”  
“A place? Has something happened to Skyhold?”  
Cole shook his head. “I cannot take them there. The world wants Skyhold back. It is trying to take the Inquisition from her. She’ll let it go, soon. Skyhold is emptying, until the end. Until you say. They are all going, one by one, draining away. If Orlais finds the gryphons there when—”  
“Gryphons?” asked Solas sharply. He stood up.  
“Valya’s gryphons. Blackwall and Brosca fought to keep them free, but they were forced out. Gone down into the dark with the Inquisitor. She keeps them safe, but she cannot save the gryphons or the recruits.” He held out a hand toward Solas. A slim vial lay in his palm. “Brosca switched them, the antidote for the poison. But the gryphons—”  
“It won’t help them,” said Solas. “I’m not even certain it will help any of the recruits who aren’t elves.”  
“It will. Warden Brosca took it. And the King. But the gryphons need a place.”

He took the vial carefully. “I’m sorry, Cole. Arlathan is tainted. They cannot come to the city.”  
“The lighthouse then. The green forest. There is no blight there. It will not spread until the end. They can help. They _want_ to.”  
Solas hesitated. “I know very little about raising or caring for gryphons.”  
“Valya knows. And there are a few among your people who remember. I only need the words to speak. I can pass by the spirits who watch, but Valya cannot.” Cole grabbed his hand. “ _Please_ Solas. They just need a place to be _free_. Others will use them. Or destroy them.”  
“This Valya…” he trailed off, not even certain what he wished to ask.  
“Who is there to betray you to?” asked Cole, sensing the question beneath. “The only other who would help her is the Inquisitor, if she could. Valya needs you. And you need her help. Or— Abelas does.”  
“Very well, if you trust her, then I can hardly argue,” said Solas and repeated the passwords slowly. Cole’s smile was brilliant and Solas barely caught his arm before he slipped away. 

He froze, turning back, his excitement already fading into sorrow. But Solas could not help himself. “Has the anchor grown again?” he asked.  
“She sent me away,” said Cole. “She sent me away to go down in the dark. I can’t feel her so far from here. I don’t know.”  
“Why did she send you away? What happened?”  
“She thought I’d be happier. That I could help more with Hawke. With the people hiding from Tevinter.”  
He let go. “Are you? Happy?” he asked.  
“Hawke is kinder now. She was angry when I first came. Suspicious and worried. She thought I was like her friend. I think that I helped. Her hurt isn’t so loud anymore. And the people who came on the boats— they were tired and frightened. I help them rest.”  
“But _you_ Cole,” Solas insisted gently, “Are _you_ happy?”  
The boy rocked from foot to foot for a moment before answering. “I think— I _could_ be. Someday. When the worry isn’t like the ocean. I liked it when the hurts were small. I liked helping. Everything is so much now, and I feel— less. In the dark with Cole again, starving and pinched.”

Solas wished he could tell him that it would ease, this feeling of helplessness, that in time, the worst fears would prove to be smaller than their shadows. This time— this time he feared it would be a lie. “When you were there with the boy, you could not take his hunger or his pain.”  
“No,” admitted Cole.  
“But you _did_ help. You comforted him in his last hours. The things you do now— sheltering the gryphons, remaining beside the Inquisitor when she was ill, helping those escaping torture and slavery to rest— they have meaning.”  
Cole clutched at the brim of his hat. “Not enough.”  
He folded the boy in an awkward hug, all limbs and angles and doubt. The hat tumbled off, but he didn’t chase it. “It means more than you know, Cole. And there are moments in this world that comfort is all we can give. The kindness helps, even when deeds cannot.”

They stood that way for a few moments, until Cole drew quietly away. Solas picked up the hat and bent it back into shape before handing it to the boy. “I will find Abelas. He’ll send word to the lighthouse to expect you.”  
“You want me to return to the Inquisitor,” he said flatly.  
Solas sighed. “You are your own person, Cole. I want you to be safe. I want you to find some peace, and I hoped the Inquisitor would be able to give you both. But I have been wrong. And what _you_ wish for yourself is what matters most.”  
“I think— I think I want to go home,” said Cole. “Is that wrong?” He peered at Solas from beneath the fabric.  
“No. No, that is not wrong. I thought you might.”  
“But not yet. You are going to save her?”  
“I will try,” said Solas, knowing the boy could sense the lie.  
“You’ll take her with you?”  
“Yes, if she will come.”  
“Until then, I will remain. She thinks it will not help her. But I know it will help _you_ to know she is not alone.”  
“And if she will not yield?” he asked, feeling the dread press against his ribs again.  
Cole tilted his head. “Then perhaps she’ll find a way for you to yield,” he said, “Or maybe you’ll stay anyway, when she cannot.” And then he was gone.   
Solas pulled himself into his armor, feeling weary and bruised though he had just arisen. He had asked Wisdom, once, what was to be done. After Mythal’s death. In the intense panic of the days between. 

“I have found no other way, and yet it falls so far short,” he’d cried, drooping over the cluttered work table. He’d been exhausted, sleepless and frantic. But his fear was failing him. He looked up at Wisdom who paced restlessly across from him. “I could retreat,” he said.  
“No,” said Wisdom, “You have nowhere to retreat to. The Evanuris will continue to chase you. They have risked too much now to fail.”  
“It will give me more time to…” Solas trailed off and waved vaguely at the multitude of books. He ran an ink-stained hand over his skull.  
“It will give you more time to panic,” said Wisdom. “You will not find another way on the run. Your thoughts will be turned only to the next haven, the next battle, the next death of your people.”  
“What are we to do?”  
Wisdom stopped its restless movement. Came toward him. “The path is before us,” it said. “It is not the one we would choose, but it is all that we have found. We will walk it, one step leading to the next, for as long as we must.”  
He shook his head, but felt Wisdom’s tingling touch on his shoulder. It waited until he looked up at it again.  
“We will walk it, Solas, but watch for crossings. There is always an opportunity to change one’s course, if we do not blind ourselves to it.”

_One step leading to the next,_ he thought, pulling the glittering helm back over his head. _Until I can change the course of the world._ He knew, now, why he cared about the Qunari. Why he was bothering. He could admit to himself that Abelas had been partly right, but it was more than the Inquisitor. It was more than just one woman’s fate. There was a fork in the path, somewhere, he knew. He _knew_. And until he found it, he’d behave as if the world was going to survive, even as he drew closer to killing it.   
The tower rang with the sound of his footsteps. He had approached the place with something like a soft regret, an identification with what had driven the man to this madness. He glanced back, now, at the lonely spire, in relief. He was not Anaris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because wtf Solas? If you wanted to save her, why didn't you tell her the password? Why make her fight the Qunari AND the spirits? So I gave the password to Cole.


	91. Veilfire Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xd9LpME3jnk&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=59

He was still an hour’s walk from the eluvian that led directly to the city gates when he first heard the screams. They waned and sharpened in the distance, still so faint that he mistook them for a strange bird. After a few repetitions, he realized what they were and broke into a sprint, flashing into fade step wherever the paths allowed. The cries were more and more agonized the nearer that he got, a wail of pain trailing slowly off only to grow again just as he lost the sound. Ice crackled around his gauntlets before he even caught a glimpse and his breath roared and growled through the helm vents.

He caught sight of them at last, two of his own people, one draped over the shoulders of the other. One he recognized. Sevren. He’d been at Skyhold, one of many. The other was too badly burned to tell. The right half of his body was bare where his clothes had crumbled into ash and long wounds wept with every step. He had no doubt they were trying to make it to Arlathan for help. He twisted his gauntlet off and dropped it. The cracking of the ice was even louder than the rumble of his breath. Sevren looked up and stumbled back a step in horror, almost toppling along with the burned man.

Solas wrenched the helm off and threw it from him. “Peace, Sevren,” he called, holding out his hands to show he meant no harm. Relief chased recognition in Sevren’s face. Solas stripped off the other gauntlet and moved to help. “Lay him down here in the grass,” he said. 

“It was an explosive,” said Sevren, “Loranil was just beside the wagon— I was…”  
Loranil groaned and shook when Solas touched him, though he was already pouring healing into him where his palms met the bubbled, snaking burns.  
“Do not regret your distance. Sharing his wounds would help no one. And you would not have been able to bring him this far. I am relieved you are not both dead.” He concentrated on Loranil’s head, fearing the damage would affect his mind first. “Even I will not be able to undo all the damage alone. I need embrium balm. And sleeping draughts. A way to carry him back. Bring Ilan,” he said, without looking up.  
Sevren began running on and Solas shouted after him, gripping the staff at his side with his free hand, “Were you followed? Are there enemies on the way?”  
“No. They are dead,” Sevren shouted and turned to run on. For a long while the only sound was Loranil trying to bite back his groans as his face slowly reemerged from the blisters and punctures that had engulfed it. 

“You do not have to swallow your pain for my sake, Loranil. If it brings you some ease, release it,” said Solas, moving to his shoulders. It was much easier than it had been in the Inquisition. Even with such extensive damage, he barely felt a wicking of his mana. But he had seen similar wounds before, in war. Even Mythal had not been able to undo every trace of them. The boy would carry some scars for the entirety of his life.

Loranil closed his uninjured hand around Solas’s free one. It was shaking and Solas squeezed it gently, thinking he wanted the comfort of another person. But Loranil’s face twisted into a grieved sob, a different type of agony. “Ir abelas,” he groaned. “I did not believe you. You told me this war would not be glorious or noble and I did not believe you.”  
Solas shook his head. “Rest easy, Loranil. There is time to talk when you are comfortable—”  
“ _No._ ” Loranil tightened his grip. “Three wagons. We only stopped one. I think— I think it is gone, but the others—” he bit off another groan. “Headed to Skyhold. Hidden in the food shipment. Sevren heard Qunlat.”  
The idea of Qunari forces moving on Skyhold was disturbing, especially in light of what he had found in Anaris’s tower. He added a gentle cooling spell and Loranil’s shaking calmed little by little. “Commander Cullen is meticulous about what comes through the gate. I will send Sevren back with information—”  
“Cullen’s with the Inquisitor. Tremors in the Deep Roads.”  
He tried to push away the rising fear and focus on comforting his soldier. “Lady Montilyet, then. She will listen.”  
“She’s in Val—” Loranil sucked in a startled breath as he shifted slightly. “Only a handful of soldiers and a few Dalish clans meant to take the three hundred or so refugees home with them. Elderly. Children.”  
“You need not fear the Qunari then, Loranil. They would not risk discovery to destroy a group of ex-slaves.” _They are far more likely to try and convert them,_ he thought bitterly, but did not say it aloud. “They will not move until the Inquisitor returns. Rest easy. I will go myself.”  
“We were meant to protect them. Supposed to scout. I failed—” tears slid over the scarred lumps of his face. Solas tried to dry them, fearing the heat would cause more pain.  
“ _No_ , lethallin. You’ve saved them. You’ve warned us and prevented worse damage. Do not be ashamed. I was the one who was wrong. You took a blow to shield others. That _is_ noble. I will remember it. And honor it. Rest, Loranil. Skyhold will not fall.”

It was deep night by the time Loranil lay in his own bed and almost dawn before Solas and Ilan had wrapped the last spell-cooled bandage around him. Sevren hovered behind them, though both Solas and Abelas tried to send him to his rest. Ilan sighed and rubbed his wrist in fatigue, sinking back as they finished.  
“I’ll sit with him,” said Sevren.  
“No,” said Vhemanen who was still slathering embrium balm on spare bandages in the corner. “I’ll sit with him.”  
“But—”  
“I need to go to Skyhold,” said Solas, abruptly cutting off the argument. “It would be of use to hear the entire story, Sevren, and Loranil cannot tell it.”  
Sevren nodded and followed him out of the quiet house.  
“He said there were three wagons,” started Solas, as they headed for the eluvian. Abelas lingered near Sevren, listening.  
“Yes. We thought it was the usual supply shipment from the Hinterlands. It was late, by almost a week. There are so many people in Skyhold with the refugees and the clans— stores were beginning to look pretty bare. Morris thought the bandits might have returned to the crossroads. He sent us out just to scout. That’s all. Just to find them and report back. We spotted them halfway up Gherlen’s pass.” Sevren shook his head. “We were so relieved. We ran to meet them. They didn’t see us for a time, and we were close enough to hear a few shouts before they spotted us. I heard— they were speaking Qunlat.”  
“Yes, Loranil mentioned that.”  
“We— they still looked like merchants. Slow and soft. Not paying attention. I thought he could handle the first wagon. I wanted to reach the second before they realized— I was going to talk to them first. It was just a phrase. Just one. Maybe they were Tal Vashoth. Maybe they had escaped— we didn’t know. I heard Loranil greet them and it sounded easy, friendly. I thought—”  
“You thought you were both performing your task, and you _were_ ,” said Abelas. Sevren looked doubtful but did not argue.  
“The second and third wagons were still far below. I’m not even certain they heard the explosion. It knocked me from my feet, though I was out of sight of Loranil by then. It was all raging flame— the wagon, the trees beyond, Loranil… I don’t know what happened to the merchants. Or to the other wagons. They could not have missed the wreckage. They’ll know we discovered them.”  
“Were you seen?” asked Solas.  
“No. We were gone long before the other wagons arrived. But his screams—”  
“They may have assumed you dead,” said Abelas. “Or that their colleagues suffered some kind of accident.”  
“It may be that only the first wagon was false,” offered Solas. “I must be certain. We cannot risk the death of another titan.”  
“Ma suleval ash.” Abelas kept his tone flat, but Solas knew the doubt behind it. “I will wake the others to go with you.”  
“No. I’ll go alone. If they don’t yet realize that they’ve been discovered, I would let it remain so. Skyhold cannot be the only intended target. I wish to see what they will do.” He paused as Abelas frowned. “And I cannot argue with you longer. It may well be that the Inquisitor’s fate is clouding my reason. I am uncertain. I will not risk others for something so small.”  
“I never said it was small. We should at least send another to warn the people in Skyhold—”  
“We have people there already, even without Loranil and Sevren.”  
“Yes,” Sevren agreed, “Jana is on the night watch and Farrow has just returned from Varsdotten camp. Many of the others are with Commander Cullen. They are not meant to return for some time.”  
“Jana and Farrow will be enough. I have no wish to expose the strength of our forces either to the Qunari or the Inquisition. And it is far easier for three to move unseen than for an army.”  
They had reached the eluvian. Torchlight flickered in the dark glass and a bored guard sat nearby, his sword naked across his lap. He leapt up as they approached.  
“Be easy,” laughed Abelas, “Danger will not approach from this side of the mirror.”  
The guard blushed.  
“I could go with you,” offered Sevren. “I will be quiet and quick. And I owe it to Loranil—”  
“Loranil will need you here. He will doubt himself. You were with him. Help him rest easy. I will not let your suffering come to nothing. Skyhold will remain intact and its people safe.” Solas gripped the man’s arm in farewell. Sevren nodded and accepted the dismissal, stepping back after a moment.  
“You do not mean to go that way, do you?” asked Abelas.  
Solas looked down at himself. He had forgotten the armor that still gleamed in the dim light.  
“You’ll be spotted before you even reach the gates.”  
He began unbuckling the plates. The relief as he pulled off the metal was palpable. He had not realized how tired he had become underneath the weight of it. Abelas unclasped his own cloak and handed it over. “I don’t know how you intend to walk through Skyhold without being recognized, but this should help, at least for a few moments.”  
“I expect most of the people remaining are either ours or were not with the Inquisition before I left,” he said. “The people I knew well have all departed.” The greaves fell free and the guard beside them began gathering up the pieces. “Thank you,” he said quietly. The air felt cold after the warm metal, though it was almost high summer, and he was grateful for the cloak. The eluvian slid open under Abelas’s palm.  
“Hunt well, Fen’harel,” he said. Solas felt a pang at the name. _What would I give to lay it aside as easily as the armor?_ He wondered.  
“Warn the others to watch the roads. We do not know how many other wagons may be traveling across Thedas,” he said instead. Abelas nodded and Solas stepped through the eluvian.

He stood on the hill beside the old rock cairn just after dawn. There was a thin strip of worn grass beneath the tree. She had sat there. How many times without him? His hand closed around the small, smooth stone at the top of the cairn. It still bore the soot marks from their spells. He longed to wait, to dream here, until dusk and see what she had seen while he was absent. But he hoped to slip in unnoticed with the morning crowd that came to trade at Skyhold. Later, he would be alone entering the gates, easy to notice. He took the stone, letting it tumble into the small pouch on his belt, its tumbling thump a comfort against his hip. He pulled the hood up to shadow his face and walked on. 

He needn’t have worried. The gates were flung wide open, the guards barely acknowledging the jostling crowd below the towers. It didn’t take long to discover why. The courtyard was a field of rippling scarlet. Dozens of aravels stood scattered across it. He heard the rapid chatter of Dalish echoing around him as bargains were struck and children were scolded and halla keepers tried in vain to keep their clans’ herds separated from one another. Little knots of elves without vallaslin lingered along the edges, watching. But they were not left idle long. As he watched, many were called into the bustle with a friendly greeting or a gift of food or clothing. Here and there a bewildered looking Inquisition soldier watched the chaos until they, too, were conscripted into some errand or other. There were so _many_ people. More than had ever been in the fortress while he had been with the Inquisition. What had brought them? Someone tugged on his arm and he spun toward them. A worried looking Jana placed a finger to her lips and he followed her silently into the deserted dungeons.  
“How did you get here so quickly? Farrow only went to contact you a few hours ago,” she whispered.  
“He did not reach me. I have been traveling since last night. Sevren and Loranil—”  
“Are they all right?” she interrupted. “He was coming to tell you. They were sent out on patrol yesterday and never returned.”  
“Sevren is well. Loranil was injured in an explosion, but he will recover. They are safe. But I need to find the wagons they were sent after.”  
Jana shook her head. “They left this morning. I helped unload them myself. Already on their way to Orlais.”  
He ran a frustrated hand over his head. “The merchants— was there anything odd about them? About the wagons or the supplies?”  
She shrugged. “We were expecting three wagons. They said one of them had lost a wheel and had to wait for a replacement. We expect it in a few days. Everything else seemed normal.”  
“What did they bring?”  
She thought, leaning against the cool stone wall. “Meal, wheat, carrots, these giant casks of Orzammar wine. That was odd, now that I think of it. We haven’t had a dwarven delegation in months. And no one else requests the stuff. I asked the cook. He said he imagined it was meant for the Exalted Council and got dropped here instead of going on by mistake. It made sense, there were several more casks in the wagons that we didn’t unload. He said Morris must have got the lists mixed up. We meant to put them on the next wagon when it passed through.”  
He hesitated. Casks of wine. Really, it was not so unusual for Skyhold. Had the only wagon carrying explosives been destroyed? Did that mean the next one would be filled with explosives? He needed to be certain.  
“I need to see everything you unloaded from those wagons.”  
“Certainly,” said Jana, “but the kitchens are packed. Everyone is readying for the departure of the aravels. We will have to wait until late tonight. Or a few days, Skyhold will be almost empty when they leave. All of the escaped slaves are meant to go with them. There will only be a few soldiers remaining—”  
“I am uneasy waiting that long. If the merchants did bring more weapons, we need to find them and soon. I will wait here until tonight. Come and find me when we can safely search the kitchens.”  
But Jana frowned. “You can’t stay _here_ ,” she said. “We’ve been using it as storage with the keep so full.”  
“My old quarters then—”  
“No, there is a family living there for now. Only Commander Cullen’s office and the Inquisitor’s tower remain empty. Everything else is in use. I could— you could wait in the Commander’s bedroom, but his men are often in and out—” she stammered, uncomfortable with the idea she was trying to avoid.  
“I’ll wait in the tower. I know the way. Find me there when it is time,” he said abruptly, wishing to cut her embarrassment short. She nodded and peered out the door.  
“It’s clear, no one will notice you for a few moments,” she said.  
“Thank you,” he answered as she slipped out. He had no intention of following her. A simple fade step from the edge of the broken foundation brought him to the entrance of the veilfire room instead. She had not been idle. Neat rows of bedrolls and stacks of dry goods lined the massive space. Weapons racked carefully next to the entrances and hundreds of glass potion bottles in crates. Firewood and bundles of prepared torches. He passed quickly through, though he was impressed with the preparations. She was going to use this place to save who she could. Part of him knew she would not be sleeping in one of those bedrolls, though. The passage up was as unlit as it had been the first time he brought her here. He pulled a ball of veilfire into his palm, missing the emerald shine of the anchor above his shoulder. He looked up from his hand and drew in a shocked, sizzling breath. The walls were covered with the shimmer of veilfire. Every few inches another word or symbol, bright and sharp and fresh. He turned to look at them more closely. The ball of light caught on a handprint and he tumbled into the memory. 

His hand was small, warm and damp. A cluster of dark berries sat in it. Then the soft nose of a halla nuzzling, the gentle, wet wriggle of its lips as it took the berries. His other hand stroking the silver-white forehead and the nervous prickle of excitement and joy in his chest. Then the memory faded and he had returned to the dark passage. What was it meant to do? He held up the light to the next, _ena’las_. 

A woman was crying out in pain. It was dark and hot and red in the aravel. It creaked around him. Hands he recognized poured magic into the woman’s rounded belly. The Inquisitor’s hands. Younger. Whole, without the small scars he had known. Another voice praising the woman. The Inquisitor had been frightened. Tired. It had not been an easy birth. One more cry, and then a breathless pause. The clap of a gentle slap and he heard laughter mingling with a sudden wail. The Inquisitor looked up and watched the tiny, wriggling thing passed gently over the woman’s belly and into her arms. But she did not linger on the child, watching instead, the quiet relief and joy in the mother’s face. The memory faded.

Another, this one a branching tree. He was kneeling in a cold rain, his arms wrapped around something. Sad and powerless. A tree’s leaves rattled and he opened his eyes. He _knew_ this. A reverse image of it. This storm, this tree. The arms were hers, wrapped around the shaking warmth of himself. He had a slight feeling of disorientation, a memory of his own loss leaking into the helplessness of her veilfire one. It slid away before he could get his bearing and another tree replaced it. Charred to a stump and then bursting upwards, the welling pulse of mana tingling in his fingers as the trunk groaned and shot up and out and unfolded in silver flowers. The vhenadahl. He tasted apples before the memory shifted again, this time dizzying as the forest of the Emerald Graves spread its canopy above him in the bright sun and the subtle, clean smell of prophet’s laurel surrounded him. “Flame and famine and fighting. But they press up anyway, pushing against the day, pushing through death like sun through cloud,” came Cole’s voice. “You like that.”  
“Yes,” the Inquisitor’s own sliding from his throat. “The worst catastrophes cannot destroy everything. They only make room for more life. Other lives. I find comfort in that.” The memory faded.

There were so many— she had made hundreds. _Veilfire is memory,_ he told himself. They were memories of life. Of a world she thought would be gone. And she still had hope, recording them for the lives that would come after. Or for herself? For him? When she couldn’t recall why she struggled any longer, when the world fell, some idea of what could be again. Or just an argument that she was and had been, indeed, _real_. He could not bear to let them go unseen and moved slowly through each one. Some, he recognized, seeing the events he had experienced through her eyes. Some were revelations about her. About what she valued, how she grew, what grieved her. It would have frightened him to place it all upon a dusty wall, these secret selves, for any to see. Still, there was something in him that longed to. That wished to be seen. Just once. They were not all pretty. Not all flattering. It didn’t matter. He found himself more lost to her than he had ever been by the time he came to the last memory. There was space for more, a jagged unevenness that told him she intended to add to them. That it was a long, long work that would not end until she was forced from this place. He touched the bare space, wiping the wall free of years of grime. Just one. For her to discover. Just one to give back a portion of himself, if she chose. Something sweet, untarnished, something that would lift her through the bleakness. He extinguished the veilfire he had in his hand and stood in the dark, concentrating. 

They’d returned from Adamant to find Dagna pacing at the gates, waiting for them. She’d been excited, demanded their armor in order to take samples. Solas had been slightly amused, wondering whether she expected to find a piece of the Fade snagged in Vivienne’s robes or Sera’s buckles. And somewhat curious about what she _would_ find. She’d fussed over the Inquisitor, asking for more, scrapings of her skin and cuttings of her hair. She seemed highly disappointed that the Inquisitor had bathed.  
“Still,” she said, “maybe something is left. Please, Inquisitor, it will take only a few moments.”  
“Very well, if you think it will help,” the Inquisitor had said, following her to the Undercroft. He’d found her much later, poring over reports in the library and trying to tuck the remains of a small, ragged clump of hair back into her braid. He reached to unwind the leather lacing and startled her.  
“Oh!” she cried, “I’m sorry, Solas, I didn’t hear you come in.”  
“I see Dagna was a little overzealous,” he laughed, touching the short strands near her neck.  
The Inquisitor blushed. “It was for a good cause. It’ll grow back.”  
He took the chair beside her and finished unthreading the lace. Her hair fell loose and the ragged piece disappeared into the rest. “What do you think she will find?” he asked, pushing it gently from her face.  
She smiled. “Hair and skin and probably some dirt that I missed. Whatever I’m made up of. Not the Fade, surely.”  
“Hmm. I disagree.” He traced the edge of an ear, her chin, the curve of her lips. Her smile grew and she leaned toward him.  
“Oh?” she asked, “What do you think she’ll find?”  
“Pure Fade. The thousand dreams that someone fashioned to make you.”  
She laughed, low and soft and warm. “That was terrible,” she said and kissed him.  
“But it worked,” he answered when she drew away. She was still laughing and gathered her hair again. He stopped her hands with his own. “I was not entirely in jest,” he said quietly. “There are days when I wonder whether you are entirely real or if you are a wish I’ve made.”  
She looked at him for a moment, searching for something. “How do you decide?” she asked. He stood and began rebraiding her hair himself, threading the short pieces in, burying them in the weight and warmth of her. He leaned in to whisper on the edge of her ear.  
“Some days, it is the rise and fall of your breath, deep and then shallow, rapid then slow, unpredictable and physical. Some days, it is the shock of your hand upon mine, tingling with magic or warm on a cold morning, cool after plunging into a river.” He paused to stroke the side of her neck, lifting stray strands of hair away, back into the heavy braid. “Often,” he said, “it is the taste of your mouth when I kiss you, every time different. Every time new. But most days— most days it is your heart that surprises me, that makes me realize my imagination is too poor to imagine someone as kind as you.”  
“Solas—” she said and twisted toward him. The braid flew free, her hair tumbling again into a loose jumble. It didn’t matter, he kissed her again. 

The memory glowed bright in his palm. He used it to scribe _lath_ into the wall, just as before, so she’d have no doubt. So she’d know, if she ever looked. He looked back, once, at the glittering passage, and then climbed the rest of the way to the tower.


	92. Icon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unsmyVBOlmk

He was uncertain what he’d expected. A room frozen in time, unchanged by the two years he’d been absent from it? An entirely different room, devoid of anything he’d recognize? The Inquisitor to be seated at her desk or leaning on the balcony suddenly turning to smile at him?  
There was nothing shocking in her quarters. Perhaps that was what wounded him so. Her life went on. She grew and changed at the same rate without him. There was no sad gathering of the items he had left, no uncomfortable shrine or object placed just exactly where he had dropped it. Nor was all evidence of him erased. He could see the book he had been reading neatly shelved beside others, though there was a thin ribbon marking the place he’d left off. One of his patched cloaks hung near the hearth, beside her own. The translations he’d written were stacked neatly on the corner of her desk. She’d just— moved him gently aside and kept going. As if she knew he’d return, but not expecting him soon. There were pieces of her, too. The pebble that held the translations down, she’d picked it up on the Storm Coast, smooth and rounded and blackened with dragonfire. A small thing that had pleased her, nothing more. The half finished staff she’d been working on in the Emerald Graves after her own had splintered. Dorian had become tired with the near-constant breakage and had given her a staff of Bronto bone before she’d finished it. It hung in the rafters above the desk, forgotten. The large map she’d been drawing hanging on the wall. There were more details now, the undefined edges pushed farther back than he had expected. She’d traveled much more than she ought to have. It troubled him. The anchor’s spread would be much worse outside of Skyhold. He had expected her to slow now that Corypheus was gone, but it seemed she’d traveled more in the past few years than when he’d been with her.  
He sat at her desk, depressed by the many scrolls that lay open, all describing the Blight. Notes from Dagna about the red lyrium and tired scrawls of her own. Lists and recipes and theories each seeming more desperate than the last. If she’d been there when he arrived— he tried to reason with himself. This wasn’t something he could keep her from. The Blight would come no matter where he kept her. And yet— if she had been there, he might have drawn her back to Arlathan anyway. _If she’d go,_ he reminded himself.  
The door creaked and he tensed. But Jana crept in and he sank back in his seat. “I thought you might be hungry,” she offered holding out a plate toward him. “The kitchen is serving. It’ll be empty in a few hours, everyone has to get up early to see the Dalish off.”  
“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her. She nodded.  
“I’ll— I’ll come back when it’s time,” she said, turning to go.  
“Jana—”  
She turned back.  
“The Inquisitor,” he waved at the papers on the desk. “Does she do this often, this research?”  
Jana rubbed an arm nervously. “Some. She’s been busy with the refugees lately. It was hard to get the clans to agree to take them. She hasn’t had much time. But— it’s like an undercurrent. Always there. I think she worries over it more than we know. Since Dagna and Dorian left, she hasn’t really talked about it. But who is there to speak to anymore?”  
“And the anchor? Is it worse?”  
“She’s kept it covered since she returned from Tevinter. I don’t think anyone’s seen it. Gloves all the time, long sleeves. She doesn’t act as if it’s paining her though. She’s not sharp or short with anyone. Doesn’t favor it or wince when someone touches her.”  
He nodded and she left the room. The room darkened around him as the sun sank behind the Frostbacks. He knew better than to light up the tower and sat beneath the wide windows watching until the light was gone. The door creaked and Jana called up to him. He met her on the stairs.  
“The guards are light with no one here, but we’ll still need to watch for patrols,” she said. “If we’re stopped, just let me do the talking. Almost no one here will recognize you and there are so many elves here, most will assume you are with one of the groups already here.” She led him down the stairs, peeking around the edge of the door for a long moment. He followed her across the long throne room. The empty spot in front of the hearth where Varric’s chair had sat struck an unexpected blow and he stopped to stare at it a long moment. He regretted Varric’s anger with him. But he could see no other outcome for what he’d done.  
“Are you well?” asked Jana.  
“Yes,” he said, turning back to the door. They made their way down to the kitchens. The fires were banked and the slow, sweet fragrance of baked bread rose from the cooling ovens.  
“Most of it is in the pantries. I found the loading list from yesterday.”  
“Good, we’ll go through it as quickly as possible.”

 

They were about halfway down the list and his hands were dusty with a combination of flour and ground spice and tea from plunging his hands into sacks to check them, when they reached the wines. He followed Jana into the cellar, wiping his hands and stopped on the bottom step. There, gleaming in the corner beside the large barrels of mead, were three round metal urns. He’d seen all sorts of different casks in his time, even the poisonous mosswine the Carta used to assassinate their foes. None of them were ever stored in these. “These are the casks from Orzammar?” he asked as she moved toward them.  
“Yes. Three of them. More on the wagon, but they were meant for Val Royeaux and Halamshiral. The dwarven delegation has been invited to the Exalted Council as guests.”  
Solas pulled a barrier around them. He gingerly shifted one of the casks. A shifting rattle, like sand.  
“But when I lifted it, it sounded like—”  
He pushed one of the other casks. It sloshed. “A decoy. Did the merchants help you unload?”  
“Yes,” she said miserably, “And one of the kitchen hands. Bran. But he never said anything—”  
“They had to have an ally in Skyhold. Perhaps Bran was—”  
“No! He’s devoted to the Inquisition, he’d never do that!”  
Solas looked at her for a long moment. “Just as you would never join another force, Jana?” he asked.  
“That’s different, you’d never ask me to hurt them…” she faltered at his expression.  
“It is a matter for another day. I do not wish them hurt, that much is true. We will watch and hopefully catch the spy. But for now—” he pushed her behind him carefully and pried off the cover of one of the casks. The acrid smell of deathroot was immediate and overpowering. He peered into the dark cask. It was almost full with a silver-green sand, he pulled a handful from the cask and inspected it. He could not tell much, but poured the handful carefully into an empty wine bottle that sat nearby to take with him. He pulled one more pinch from the cask and put it carefully onto the empty stone floor across the cellar. “Stay back,” he told Jana, already recasting the barrier. He flicked a spark at it and the dust sizzled and banged with a bright flash and intense heat. Too small an amount to harm them or the stone, but he could tell it would be devastating in large amounts. Jana stared at the still sputtering sparks, but he just calmly recapped the cask. It was far too heavy for him to get up the stairs alone.  
“We’ll need help,” he said, “and a way out of the keep without being seen. It’s got to be removed or it could tear Skyhold to rubble. I don’t want to expose ourselves to the spy if we can help it. This can’t be the only place they’ve targeted.”  
“Farrow should be back by now. I’ll find him. The midden chute is the only way out of the keep except for the gates that I know of. But it’s close and I know the cooks ordered it cleaned a few weeks back.”  
“Yes, that will work.” He didn’t relish the idea of dragging the casks through a filthy midden chute but it would not be the worst place he’d been and the work would go quickly with three. She ran off to find Farrow. He tried to examine the casks, hoping for some clue in their shape or symbols. The geometric embossings would suggest that they had some kinship with dwarven design, but the rounded shape did not. He could find no maker’s mark, no stamp or label at all. Except for the word of the merchants, it might have been anything at all. The Inquisition was slipping. A few years before, every sack was opened, every meal tested for poison before being served. Were they down to so few people or had those that remained simply forgotten the threat? _Jana didn’t know either,_ he reminded himself. A clatter of footsteps made him look up. Farrow and Jana hurried down to him.  
“I tried to reach you—” Farrow began.  
“About Loranil and Sevren, I know. They are both safe.”  
“Jana said they were explosives,” he said pointing to the casks.  
“Yes. I need your aid to get them out.”  
“Of course. But what will we do with them then?”  
It was not something he’d considered yet.  
“Could we dump them in the river? The current would wash it away,” offered Jana.  
“No. It’s laced with deathroot extract,” said Solas. “It would flow down into the local fields and taint them.”  
“Anywhere we dump it will do that after the first good fall rain,” said Farrow.  
“We’ll need to burn it, then. Somewhere safe, away from any villages.”  
They thought for a moment. Jana’s face broke into a slow smile. She glanced sideways at Farrow. “There’s the statue,” she said.  
“The ambassador would kill us,” he answered, though he began to grin as well.  
“She’d assume it was Sera.”  
“What statue?” asked Solas.  
“In the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” said Farrow. “They built a massive statue of the Inquisitor. She tried to stop it, but it happened anyway.”  
“Almost didn’t,” laughed Jana. “Sera kept stealing the requisitions for the marble. It was stalled just at the waist for months. Kept calling it the ‘Ass-quisitor.’ They finally finished it after she left. Had a big ceremony to unveil it. The Inquisitor was polite and thanked the sculptor, but—”  
“She hates it. The idea of it, the ceremony, even the actual statue itself. I watched her. She stared at the face a long time while the sculptor went on and on about artistic vision and how a ‘softer’ look would make her seem more approachable. He meant ‘human.’ Looks nothing like her. But that might be a relief. Anyhow, it’d be no great loss. And the ruins are still empty. Another explosion can hardly do more damage. It’s far enough that no one at Skyhold should see it, even a large explosion.”  
“Very well. If there are no settlers nearby—”  
Jana shook her head. “No, the Commander was nervous about the remaining red lyrium. It’s still under quarantine.”

The midden chute was still filthy and smelled rotten and sour, but he hardly noticed. He could only think of that night on the balcony. How he’d promised to remember her as she was when the humans changed her face, her words, her deeds. The metal cask was heavy even between two of them and it was an effort not to slip in the decaying vegetable peels and old ale. Still, he kept wandering back to the idea of the statue. To how much she had longed to be more than an icon to them. How could they not see? Sera had known. For that, he was grateful. But Sera had still gone, just like all the others. Back to their own lives. Why was clan Lavellan not in the courtyard?  
“Farrow,” he whispered, “Did the Inquisitor not ask her own clan to take some of the refugees?”  
Farrow grunted out a labored breath. “Months ago. They’ve taken more than they are likely to be able to support. It’s only because they remain in Wycome that it was possible. She only called upon the other clans when Deshanna finally admitted they could help no more.” They heaved the cask over the lip of the chute and settled it carefully into the wagon Jana kept waiting. Solas climbed back up into the chute. One more. “She would have kept them in Skyhold if she could,” said Farrow, “but she’s been warned. The Inquisition will not survive the Council. One way or another, she will have to give it up. Skyhold may not be hers in a few months time. Or if it is, it might not be safe for them to stay. It’s by no means certain that Orlais would not return the escaped slaves to their masters if it kept the peace with Tevinter.”  
They picked up the other cask. “Don’t think she means to try to hang on to the Inquisition anyway,” said Farrow, adjusting his grip. “She’s been selling off assets and using them to pay out retirements to the soldiers. Skyhold’s not just empty because everyone’s away. Almost half have already gone home. Cullen insists on an honor guard and the ambassador keeps a small staff on hand in case of visiting delegations, but this is the most crowded the keep has been in months. After tomorrow— it’ll be silent again until the Council.”  
They struggled to the end of the chute and lowered the second cask into the wagon.

It was late morning by the time they reached the temple, rumbling over a makeshift wooden bridge, the planks still bright and splintery where they had replaced the broken stone. He watched the enormous statue from the edge of the valley until he stood at its foot, half fearing the sight of her face would drive him to do something foolish. Like find her in the Deep Roads. Like letting Cole help him steal her from an uncaring world. It was hard to tell whether he were relieved or saddened to see the statue held nothing of her. Still and stiff and dead. A blank stone with someone else’s features staring from it. He felt no guilt as they poured large heaps of the explosive powder at its feet.  
“Go back to Skyhold,” he told them, “fill the casks with sand before you return them. We don’t want the spy to know we’ve removed it. Watch, but don’t interfere. I will return on foot.”  
“We can wait at Haven—” protested Jana.  
“No, I don’t know how bad the damage will be. It will require all my concentration to hold the Veil closed in this place. I would not risk you being harmed by being too close.”

He waited until the wagon was a glint upon the mountain pass before he began. Barriers and wards rose around him, around the powder, around the temple. He could not strengthen the Veil as the Inquisitor could, not without an intricate system of spells and amplifiers, but he could prevent it from tearing again. The temple ruins hummed with power, echoing from the remaining lyrium, pulsing and pressing. He held his breath and cast a flame onto the powder. A hiss that strengthened and heat flickering up the barriers. A massive crack that shook the valley and startled birds sending them in great clouds toward the sky. The statue cracked and slid, shoulder to hip, tumbling to the ground. Pockets of the powder scattered in small silver arcs. A low rumble he could feel in the balls of his feet grew until the lyrium around him began shattering. He pressed all his power into the barriers. Still, when the blast came in a wave of red light, he felt the Veil unraveling and thinning.  
It cost more than he had expected to contain it. The plume of fire roiled against the ceiling of his ward and then shriveled and was gone so quickly, he might have questioned it happening at all. But he was exhausted and the stone hand of the statue rolled toward him, charred and cracked as his barrier fell. He sidestepped it easily. An ember still glowed in its palm. He crushed the coal with the sole of his foot and walked slowly away. The explosive would have leveled Skyhold. And it would not be the only time the Qunari attempted this. He needed rest. And then, he’d wait. Watch. Track them down, one by one if he had to. He found one of the draft horses that had been hitched to the wagon waiting for him in Haven. It had been tied to the far edge of the palisade. The idea that it had been so close to the edges of his wards— he was uncertain whether to feel uneasy or grateful for his agents’ trust in his abilities. He hadn’t been entirely certain of himself. He climbed up and let the horse wander slowly toward home.  
He made it shortly before the gates closed for the night, shadowing his face again with his cloak. Farrow was waiting for him in the guard house. A simple gesture to signal that all was well, and Solas passed on to the stables unnoticed. Master Dennet was long gone, returned to his farm months before. The stablehands already gone to their meal. Fewer eyes to see him. Half a dozen fires dotted the courtyard and the tavern and keep blazed with light and sound. For a moment he ached again to be among them. To belong to this place as he once had. To stay.  
It was easy enough to pretend. No one stopped him as he climbed the stairs to the keep, nor even glanced his way as he crossed the throne room and climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor’s room as if it were normal. As if he were meant to be there.  
He pulled the cloak from his shoulders as he entered the room. He told himself it was irrational to be grieved that it was dark, that he did not find her sitting at her desk, the candlelight amber on her face, her hands. He pulled a blanket from her bed and stretched out on the floor. It was so simple to slip into the Fade here, where he most wanted to be. _Come home, my love,_ he thought, _find me. Keep me._ And then he drifted into a happier memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was meant to be added almost two weeks ago-- and be longer. But my writing software ate the middle chapter and I lost 5k words and got discouraged. We'll get to trespasser next time, promise.


	93. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMrImMedYRo&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=62

The sound that woke him in the thick dark was not the Inquisitor’s voice. A thud reverberated on the stairs and Solas snapped from his memories in the Fade.  
“Careful, Bran,” snarled a familiar voice. “Jostle it enough and they’ll be peeling us from the foundation stones below.”  
It would not be wise to be discovered here. Not if he wished to keep the knowledge of his presence from the Inquisitor. He quickly rose from the floor as the two men struggled up the stairs with their burden. He slipped into the Inquisitor’s storage room, listening. There wasn’t much to hear except the low grunts of heavy labor.  


“A moment, Master Sturhald,” gasped another voice. The wooden door sank further in its frame as someone leaned against it. Solas fade stepped into the dark passage that led to the veilfire room. He’d find out nothing if they discovered him now. The voices were distant through the stone wall, but he could still catch them.  
“You’re certain this will work? The tower is so distant—”  
“I’m certain. Why do you think I was posted here? Oversaw the entire restoration. These sodding dusters wouldn’t know a buttress from a bastion. Don’t, in fact. Built in the weak spots with my own hands. With this last barrel in place, the whole keep will crumble.”  
“But will it kill _her_ , Gatsi? She walked away from a flaming falling island—”  
“Relax, Bran. She’ll be dead long before she returns to Skyhold. Even if she survives the bloody Orlesians, she’ll not survive the other.”  
“And if she does?”  
“If she does, we set off these. And if she survives that, well, we’ve both got hands, haven’t we? Elf necks snap just like any other.”  
The door outside the passage scraped open and there were more grunts.  


“You _do_ serve the Qun, don’t you, Bran?” asked Gatsi. They were very close to Solas. A few stones were all that stood between them. And he itched with frustration and rage.  
“Of course. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”  
“Why the sudden hesitation? She’s harmed us and ours. Entire dreadnought with all hands, gone. And Tevinter’s got her ear—”  
“It isn’t that. I know what the Qun demands. It’s— the humans say she’s chosen. Even my Keeper thinks she’s got Mythal’s favor. She’s survived the impossible—”  
Gatsi laughed. It grated in Solas’s ears and silver flames had erupted from his palms, already slithering up his arms. He noted his own lack of control and bit back the urge, damping the magic even as Gatsi spoke again.  
“Trust me, Bran, she’s not chosen. If you saw the lost, bedraggled thing when we arrived here, you’d know. She’s just been lucky. And everyone’s luck runs out. She’s a flaming cat who’s already gone through thirteen lives. Besides— that thing in her hand would do it for us if we could wait that long. Might anyway.”  
Bran was silent. Gatsi grunted once more and the barrel clanged against the wall. “Come on, Viddasala will be expecting a report.”  


More shuffling and the door scraped closed again. Solas fade stepped out of the tunnel. It was as he thought, the gaatlok barrel sat against the wall nearby. He could hear their steps on the stairs beyond the door. An extra second, and he was following, a baleful shadow in the predawn twilight. They were careless, their deed done, a million feasible lies readily at hand if they were challenged now, without the barrel to betray them. Gatsi stumped down the steps, never looking behind him. And Bran was too eager to be gone to glance upward. Solas half wanted them to. They’d be a shattered pile of ice before they could scream, his need for information be damned. _Too quick_ , he thought, sliding through the doorway after them. He wanted to be vicious. Cruel. He wanted it to be painful and long. The intensity of the hatred he felt surprised even him. Was it for the Inquisitor? Truly? He’d known she would die before they’d even met. The gaatlok was immediate. Maybe painless, if she were lucky. It wasn’t the death of inch after inch that the mark was. It wasn’t the torture the Evanuris would very likely inflict upon her when he lowered the Veil and abandoned her.  


Or was it the Qun? Try as he might, he could find no softness for it. It was only for the Inquisitor’s sake that he kept trying to understand the Qunari. Now they were tangled up in ending her. He could feel the kinder portions of himself wither away in the face of it. He wanted to hurt them. Gatsi and Bran, yes, but all the others as well. Any who had a hand in this plot. He slunk through the dark spaces of the courtyard after the elf and the dwarf as they headed for Skyhold’s gate. _Foolish,_ he told himself, _retreat to Arlathan. Call the others home and then seal it away again. What happens here cannot change the plan._ But it did. So he passed by the path that would take him back and stalked Gatsi and Bran farther down the mountain side.  


The sky was lightening, sharpening the cut of the hills against it. He would not be concealed much longer. And Bran was looking around them, nervous as they approached their destination far into the valley. Solas decided to move while he still had the upper hand. A plume of smoke as he erupted from the Fade and Bran was pinned to a tree, its branches bursting and twining to hold him there. Solas’s hand was around Gatsi’s throat, the dwarf’s eyes widening even as he was driven backward into a boulder. His breath drained from him on the impact and he gasped to regain it. Solas had an urge to tighten, to deny him. But he still needed to know where the Viddasala was. Where the other gaatlok barrels had gone.  


“Master Solas—” Gatsi managed at last. Bran struggled and cried out as the bark began to bite into his skin.  
“I _warned_ your Viddasala,” growled Solas, knocking Gatsi’s hand away from the dagger it was trying to reach. “I was patient. Willing to let the Qunari do as they would as long as they left my people untouched.”  
“The Qunari? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Gatsi. Solas squeezed, frustrated with the lies. Gatsi gagged.  
“I’ve no more time for patience, Master Sturhald. Where are the other gaatlok barrels?” He loosened his fingers. His own breath was ragged and labored, though he’d expended little energy to hold them.  
Gatsi’s gaze hardened from astonishment to anger. He was silent. It was answer enough to Solas. He leaned closer. “You think I’m a lone elf, a hedge mage, harmless but for a few potions and light shows. I am not the man you thought you knew. And you’re trying to destroy what is dearest to me. You must die. Fast or slow, that is your last remaining choice. But you _will_ give me what I need before you do.”  
“What do _you_ know of what is dearest, _gangue_? Watched the very Stone rot from within. Disorder, madness, chaos. But not in the Qun. If you think I’m going to betray that, you’re as mad as the Seeker believes.”  
He felt a cold grin creep across his face. He leaned closer still, muttering near the dwarf’s ear, “Oh, I don’t need you to break, Child of the Stone. Keep your silence. Your friend will not and you will die in agony anyway.”  
Gatsi’s head snapped toward Bran and he choked as Solas gripped him. “Keep silent!” he shouted at Bran, “Remember your oa— aaah!” He trailed off in a growing cry as Solas caused his toes to ossify.  
“Where are the barrels?”  
Gatsi just swore and spat at him. It bounced from his cheek, leaving a sticky trail. Solas ignored it. The soles of the dwarf’s feet became stone, and creeping up and up toward the ankle.  
“Tell me, and I won’t shatter them. You’ll die intact.”  
Bran thrashed, but remained silent.  
“No?” asked Solas. “Very well.” His fingers flickered and the stone cracked as the veins in Gatsi’s legs turned to ice and wedged the rock apart. The dwarf screamed. “You’ve only to tell me where the barrels went. It can be done. One more breath to give me what I need and then oblivion.”  


Gatsi bit through his lip to stay silent and blood began to trickle into his dark beard. Solas allowed the stone to creep toward the man’s knees.  
“I already know a shipment is bound for Halamshiral in time for the Council. Any fool would. You’ve only to give me the last location.”  
“May the Stone swallow you,” groaned Gatsi.  
“Not before it swallows you. This suffering is needless. I will find out what I need in a matter of hours even without you. Your loyalty is worthless.”  
The ossification had reached Gatsi groin. He shrieked in pain.  
“Stop it!” cried Bran, “Stop!”  
Solas didn’t bother to turn toward him, watching the dwarf’s distress intently. _You’d kill her,_ he kept thinking, _you’d erase everything she’s done._ “You wish to tell me something?” he asked.  
“No!” gasped Gatsi. “No, Br—” He fainted as the stone below his hips shattered. _Can’t have that,_ thought Solas, snapping him with a small burst of lightning to wake him. He came to, screaming.  


“Yes!” cried Bran, “yes, I’ll tell you, just stop.”  
A simple muffling spell ensured that Gatsi’s despair went unheard. “Tell me, then. Quickly, or he loses his fingers next.”  
“Denerim,” gasped Bran. The veins in Gatsi’s neck bulged as he shouted for Bran to stop, unheard. “The barrels are going to Denerim. There’s a Landsmeet scheduled after the Council to decide the fate of Skyhold.”  
“Very good.” Gatsi stopped moving, growing into the boulder behind him. Solas unclenched his hand as the stone cooled beneath it and stepped back from the half-statue.  
“Wh— what _are_ you?” cried Bran, kicking at the tree behind him. He turned toward Bran at last. Marked the vallaslin he wore. Dalish, once. Before the Qun. Perhaps something lingered still. A simple illusion, in lieu of an answer, a mask of smoke and ember, the six-eyed wolf that haunted their legends. He let the branches ease, releasing Bran. But the elf stood frozen in fear.  
“Fen— Fen’harel?” he stammered at last. His paralysis broke as Solas loosed a roar that the spell amplified. Bran scrambled away, tripping over the loose stones in the path, but righting himself at last. Solas sprinted behind. He was certain Bran would lead him directly to the other Qunari in his band. All he had to do was follow.

Bran stumbled through the dense trees to a toppled stone wall, crying out in fear as he scrambled up the rocks and craning to look behind him. But Solas was little more than a wisp of dark smoke between fade steps. He could hear Bran stammering passwords. It took three tries before Solas felt the ripple of magic above him as an eluvian open. Another fade step and he was sliding through beside Bran. The man shrieked as Solas erupted a hand’s breadth from him and sprinted away. But Solas ignored him, lost in shock as he realized where the eluvian had brought them.  
His own network. The old escape route, built with his own magic— and Mythal’s. The hidden passages through the heart of Elvhenan to Tarasyl’an Te’las they’d used to free the People. But he’d _warned_ them, asked them to destroy these eluvians centuries ago. A safeguard, something to shield them from the Evanuris should he have failed after Mythal’s death. Why hadn’t they _listened_? Had Abelas known?  
He watched, stunned, as Bran slapped a hand against a flushing red stone globe and the hidden pathways appeared. That, too, the Qunari had discovered. Bran disappeared through another eluvian. Solas stopped following. It did no good to chase them. He knew where they would emerge. Spirits began gathering around him.  
“They are not welcome here,” he said.  
“Ar’an eolasa.”  
“No more warnings.”  
“Vin.” They drifted from him slipping into invisibility as the paths faded again. The others had to be warned. The Landsmeet saved. And the Inquisitor— Solas turned aside, opening the way back to Arlathan.


	94. Morrigan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfLOt5P6nSk

“That is a problem,” said Abelas. “We have no agents in Denerim.”  
Solas looked up from the map of the network. “We did— Cyrion and Alarith, what has happened to them?”  
“Nothing. They are here. They had to be recalled once that— _thief_ joined the royal household. We couldn’t risk it. The vir’abelasan would have whispered to her. She would have known they were yours.”  
It took him a moment to understand. “Morrigan is in Denerim?” he asked.  
“Yes. She arrived some months ago.”  
“Why?”  
Abelas shook his head. “If I could risk agents, then we might know, but as it is— I didn’t believe Denerim vital to us. Or— to you. The Inquisition has shown very little interest in either crown. Reports are that the Inquisitor accepts that they will force a dissolution. Our only clue would be the information the Inquisition already had on Morrigan. She traveled with Warden Brosca and the King during the last blight. Perhaps she is just visiting a colleague?”  
“I’ve never known Morrigan to do anything without some ulterior motive. She is in Denerim to gain something. I have no time to debate it, the Landsmeet will happen soon, and the Council even sooner. And the Qunari know they are discovered by now. They will try to enact their plan quickly, before we can stop them.”

 

“Is there still a purpose to keeping your identity secret?” asked Abelas.   
He felt a bitter laugh well up in him. “No purpose except my own comfort. But that is insignificant.”  
“I’ll send Cyrion and Alarith back—”  
“No. I’ll go myself. My name may not deserve protecting any longer, but my people do. I do not want them found. Or Arlathan. And Morrigan may take the warning more seriously than the King would, precisely because the Well has told her what I am. Let those in Halamshiral be notified— I do not expect the shipment has yet arrived.”  
“The Council is less than a week away. You will not be able to return in time—”  
“Then I must trust you to act in my stead. Things begin to move quickly now. The Veil has thinned more than I expected and the Inquisitor will be reaching the edge of her control over the anchor. I must intervene, and soon. She’ll be unable to close more rifts for a time.”  
Abelas started. “But we only have a portion of the forces you promised. I cannot fight the Evanuris this way.”  
“I will clear the network of Qunari and call them. We must be ready within the year. That is all the time I have left to give you.”  
“Perhaps,” said Abelas hesitantly, “it would be kinder to do it now. Before the Qunari attack. Before the Inquisitor falls. Before our people are trained to fight to the last bitter breath.”  
Solas nodded. “You may be right. But I made a promise. Many. And this one, at least, I intend to keep. As much time as I can give us to find another way. I will not do it sooner than I must.” He pointed at the map. “I will meet you here, when the Qunari have been dealt with. The gaatlok is powerful and unstable. Take care if you must address it yourselves. My first instinct is to pass word to Leliana’s people through Charter. I wish to alert her and the Inquisition both, in case I have missed something. But I leave that to your discretion. You will know better how things lie than I. I must go.”  
Abelas handed him the staff he had so long carried, but Solas refused it. “No more illusions,” he said, “I no longer require them. Or this.” He paused a moment before handing it back and yanked the small fragment of the orb from its lacing. “This, I will keep,” he said, tying it carefully to the leather strap that had once held the Inquisitor’s hair. It hung from his wrist now, the jawbone, too, abandoned for some time. The only reminders he needed any longer were of her.

 

Denerim was far more crowded than he recalled seeing it in the past. The Fade had many memories of it, but none were quite as populated as he found it on this side of the Veil. Alistair had proven a good and steady ruler. His subjects flocked to him. It would make obtaining an audience difficult, if not impossible. Solas had other ideas. The guards had marked him quite a way from the palace, noting the armor before his ears, Solas guessed. He was unsurprised to see Morrigan already waiting for him when he reached the gates. She walked with him into the gardens without speaking.

 

“Have you come for the Well, Fen’harel?” she asked after she was certain they were alone.  
She expected some reaction to his name. He took a perverse pleasure in appearing unruffled. “No. I have no need of it. I wish, for your sake, you had not taken it, but given the choice between yourself and the Inquisitor— I am grateful.”  
“You would let this power go? Truly?” She stepped back from him and he could feel the electric charge of a spell building beneath her skin. “But you are the great deceiver of your people—”  
“I am. But you are not of my people. I do not need the echo of Mythal when I carry her power in full.”  
“You— but where is—”  
“I am sorry, Morrigan,” he said, feeling a flash of sympathy. He did not enjoy Morrigan’s company, but he knew his tidings were grievous ones. “She is gone.”  
“ _Gone?_ But—” She stumbled sideways and he reached to steady her. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped. She recovered quickly, smoothing over her expression. “It seems I should thank you. You’ve freed Kieran and I of an old enemy.”

 

He doubted that what she felt at the death of her mother was truly so simple, but he let it pass. It was not his affair any longer.  
“Why have you come here then?” she asked.  
“I’d as soon ask you the same,” he answered. The problem called for caution. For all he knew, she might have been a part of the plot.   
Morrigan sighed. “I came because Kieran is Alistair’s son. I never intended Kieran to know but— the King does not wish to repeat his father’s mistakes. We have negotiated since I joined the Inquisition and— I agreed. We are safe here.”  
“You are not. Nor is the King.”  
She leaped back from him, magic snapping from her fingers. Morrigan gasped as it slid harmlessly from his barrier. “I knew you could only mean harm,” she snarled.  
“Peace, Morrigan,” he said. “I am not the threat. If I wanted to harm you, I had only to wait until you slept. You know this.”

 

Her stance did not relax. He shook his head and walked deeper into the gardens. “Was there a shipment in the past few months— likely Orzammar wine? Large metal casks— they arrived at Skyhold in a food delivery.”  
“I— I am not normally involved—”  
He turned back to her for an instant. “They are filled with an explosive powder. The Qunari are moving against Ferelden and Orlais, along with the Inquisition. They mean to eliminate as many as possible in the Landsmeet and the Grand Council. To sow chaos and then step in while southern Thedas is leaderless and can’t mount any type of opposition. It will be soon.”

“But I’ve not seen a Qunari in Denerim in years. Sten would have warned us— Alistair and Brosca at least.”  
“The sten may not have known—”  
“Not ‘the’ sten, _our_ Sten. He’s Arishok now, he should know— he would have done _something_.” She paced, thinking.  
“Are you certain he would put your friendship above the Qun?” he asked.  
“No. But Iron Bull said nothing either, and I’m certain that he would have, had he known.”  
“Iron Bull has been forced out.”  
Morrigan sighed. “Yes, I am aware. But you can’t possibly believe all of his intelligence communications have been cut off. I do not. He has had far too many opportunities to build more contacts for me to believe that anything happens in Par Vollen without him catching wind of it.” 

 

_Interesting,_ thought Solas, _perhaps the plan is not as official as it appeared?_ He had little time to mull it over. _Someone_ intended to wipe out Thedas’s leaders. The gaatlok would explode regardless of whether it was a rogue faction or not.  
“Are you going to assist me in locating the casks, or shall I find my own way to the wine cellar?” he asked.  
“What do you mean to do with it once we find them?” she asked.  
“I had to dispose of the ones in Skyhold. I suggest finding somewhere quite remote, the explosion was significant. But if you wish to study it, I will not oppose you.”

 

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted. “What interest do _you_ have in this? You’ve never betrayed a fondness for Alistair— indeed, you seem to hold a grudge against the Wardens. And _we_ have certainly never been friends. You’ve eluded Inquisition agents as deftly as I for two years, though— you ought to have little to fear from them. Not as long as the Inquisitor survives. And yet, now you risk discovery. Why? What do you hope to gain?”  
“A peaceful conscience,” he said dryly. “Enough. I have no more time to justify myself to you. Aid me or do not, as you please. But be warned, if you attempt to further the Qunari plot or stop me from eliminating the threat, I will not hesitate to strike. I assure you that _some_ of the myths you know are true. The vir’abelasan will tell you which.”

 

She shrugged and led him toward the back kitchens. He stayed quiet as she warned the cooks to leave and sent guards to notify the king of the danger. At last, when they were winding their way along through the chilled cellar looking for the casks, he could resist no longer.  
“Have you seen her recently?” he asked.  
She glanced back at him. “The Inquisitor? Not for some months. I left shortly after her return from Tevinter. I felt I could no longer be of much use there.”  
“Is she well?”  
Morrigan’s eyebrow crooked higher. “I don’t know that you’re entitled to ask that. If you truly cared, you would have been there to see for yourself.”  
“That is how she thinks of me?”  
She sighed. “No. Poor fool. She’ll not hear a word against you. Not even when the Well is speaking. ‘Tis what _I_ think of you. But I know what you _are_ , Dread Wolf.”  
“So does the Inquisitor,” he said evenly.  
She stopped in shock. “Truly?” she asked.  
“Truly.” He smiled at her shock and moved past her.

 

“Perhaps she is savvier than I give her credit for,” Morrigan murmured.  
“I think there are few who give her her due. Myself included,” he said. “Ah. Here they are. Only two. Where is the third?”   
She peered at the casks. “Those? Three were already delivered to the Landsmeet with the other barrels.”  
“Five?” he frowned. How many had the Qunari made? How long had they been planning this.  
She pushed on one of the casks. “Liquid,” she said.  
“A decoy. The same as Skyhold. You should—” he was interrupted by the loud clang of rapid metal footsteps. Several dozen armed men rushed through the cellars accompanied by the crash of several bottles breaking as they passed. Alistair emerged from among them. 

 

“ _You?_ ” he said, appraising Solas. “Inquisitor’s been looking for you.”  
“I know, Ser. And I will rejoin her shortly. But first, your Landsmeet and your palace are in danger.” He pried the lid from the far cask.   
“Pah!” cried the king, recoiling. “Is that _dragon_ blood?”  
Morrigan looked disgusted but leaned forward to look.   
“Venom, I believe, among other ingredients,” said Solas.   
“Where on earth did they get that much venom?” asked Alistair.  
“Excellent question. We know there were at least eleven barrels, likely more.” He handed the cap to Morrigan. “You should contact your allies and warn them. I’ve only obtained intelligence on these and the ones at the Exalted Council. Nevarra and Tevinter are not likely to escape unscathed.”  
He pushed his way gently through the crowd of guards. “Where are you going?” asked Alistair.  
“To find out where they are keeping their dragon,” he called over his shoulder.   
“What about Orlais? The Inquisitor?”  
“Already secure,” he said.  
“But—”  
He fade stepped away before Alistair could finish the thought.


	95. Vir'dirthara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4p_f7Df2-oM&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=64

They were in the vir’dirthara, dozens of them. A forgivable trespass, laudable perhaps, had they only been seeking knowledge. Solas might have simply chased them off, following them to their leaders, had they only been learning. But the Qunari were destroying what they did not take. Saarebas burned ancient tomes of history and magic and art under the command of their keepers.   
“They are frightened, Solas,” whispered Cole, suddenly crouching beside him. “It crawls and pries at them, the longing for more. The flames consume the magic. Secrets locked safely behind absent tongues.”  
“They are _fools_ ,” he hissed. “They destroy what they do not understand so that no one else will ever have the chance to discover it.”  
“Suffering is a choice. And we can refuse it. The way of peace.”  
“You cannot believe that.”  
Cole shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what _I_ believe. They think they’re saving the world by taking away the magic. So did you. Once.”  
“And what a price we are all paying for my error. Must it be compounded generation after generation?”  
Cole touched the glimmering cord around Solas’s neck. “Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. She changes everything, but _you_ can, too.”  
He bit back a bitter laugh. “You should go, Cole. I must wake the librarians. I cannot watch them destroy what little has survived. It will not be safe.”  
Cole stood. “I should have brought you food,” he said abruptly.  
Solas looked up at him. “Why?”  
“So you would remember that you aren’t that kind of wolf.”  
He glanced back at the smoky library, the rage welling in him. “I am no longer so certain I believe that.”  
“She does. And so do I.”  
“Go, Cole.” His hands flickered and the boy’s face grew bewildered as he dissolved back to the Fade. He would not remember the conversation. Solas leaned over the edge of the tiny floating island where he stood. He called the librarians to wake, but he did not stay to witness the slaughter. Cole’s presence likely meant the Inquisitor was near, now, and his own agents would be in danger if he allowed the Qunari to stay in the Crossroads. He pulled his helm back on and fade stepped to the eluvian. 

They were green, these Qunari, barely trained in combat and bewildered when Solas simply called the guardian spirits to the crossroads and vanished again. Was this mission of theirs unimportant to Par Vollen? Or had they been purposely selected to prevent questions? They had likely not expected any resistance, relying on stealth rather than force. 

 

Solas flipped through a small journal that had been in a small camp. Elf recruited from Kirkwall. A _waste_ , he thought, pity and scorn mingling in him. Yet, how could he blame them? He had not been there when Kirkwall burned in the madness after the chantry crumbled. Nor the years before, as the alienage starved. “This is only what we see from the outside, Solas,” The Inquisitor’s voice echoed in his head, “The Qun gives them something, some belief, some purpose for their lives.” Some strength that they could not find in Kirkwall to recover their dignity. How could he begrudge them that? He wrenched control of the eluvian back but left it standing open. If they would have the good sense to flee, he’d allow it. Those that remained— _Ir abelas, Vhenan, I cannot risk you, not even to honor your wishes._

 

He moved on, following their trail through the broken rubble of the valley. Abelas and Ilan were already battling the Qunari when he slipped through the next mirror. “Council has already begun,” gasped Ilan, making Fade flame bloom beneath the feet of a soldier.   
“Our people?” asked Solas crystallizing another in ice just as he bore down on them.  
“Safe. Already through and hidden,” grunted Abelas as he stabbed another. The soldier yanked himself off of Abelas’s sword and stumbled toward the eluvian. Abelas followed casually after him. “We were the rear guard. They were moving more barrels. Couldn’t let them finish.” He raised his sword.  
“Wait,” said Solas. The Qunari was crawling down the rocky path now, long ribbons of blood coating the ground in his wake. Abelas hesitated and looked back. “Let him go. They’ll find him. She’ll want to know where he came from. Let her find what they’ve done. The Inquisition needs to know of its betrayal.”  
Ilan shook his head. “The Inquisition is _done_ , Solas,” he said. “He would only need a moment to set off a primer—”  
“They need to know. This may not be their only attempt.”  
Abelas nodded and began dragging the flagging Qunari to the mirror. “I’ll make certain they find him,” he called back. 

 

“And us?” asked Ilan.  
“We must find the dragon they are using to craft the gaatlok. And who is behind all this. I have my doubts that it is the Salasari.”  
Ilan pointed toward a dark eluvian. “They came from there, but they’ve locked it— a different key. Many have come out, but I’ve seen none return through it. Should we force it open? I don’t know how much aid I will be to you—”  
Solas frowned. “No. If they’ve changed the key then it may no longer go to the shrine as it ought to. I have no wish to emerge somewhere in Seheron without warning. If that is where they have come from, they must return to notify their leaders that their plans have gone awry. That should happen soon, if any who were in the vir’dirthara have survived. Come, let us see.” 

He led Ilan back through the tower, stepping over fallen qunari on the way. “You’ve already had many battles, it seems. Do you need to rest?”  
Ilan shook his head. “I’ve a few in me yet.”  
“Let me—” The roar of a warrior from the steps interrupted him. A squad of five were guarding the eluvian. They moved to strike and Ilan sent a wall of flame crashing into them. There were screams and two toppled from the platform in a desperate attempt to escape the others remained. Solas pushed him behind him. “I’ll need your eyes and ears, Ilan,” he said. The remaining three qunari closed in. “Where is your Viddasala?” he shouted. But they raised their blades. It was frightening, how easy it was to kill them. A thought, and that was all. Rigid stone stood in their place, their spirits fled and all the warmth gone. Ilan shrank back from him. 

 

“How long have you been— where did you—”  
“Peace,” he said gently, “I am on your side.”  
But Ilan flinched when Solas drew near. “For how long?”  
“Would I have trained you to find my weaknesses if I meant it to be temporary?”   
The boy looked doubtful. “What weakness? You turned them to rock without even touching them. Without any spell at all.” He stumbled backward as another realization hit him. “They’re _all_ like you, aren’t they? The Evanuris. They’ll all be as strong as you are. We have no chance at all, do we?”  
“You are not alone, Ilan. There are many others who will stand with—”  
A wild laugh erupted from him. “What does it matter?” Ilan waved at the three statues towering over them. “You took three by yourself. Without even moving. How many would it take to overwhelm you? Fifty? A thousand? Ten thousand? There aren’t enough of us _left_ to defeat them all.”  
Solas’s shoulders sagged. He knew well, what awaited them. “I hope when the Veil is removed that you will be like me. Like the Evanuris. There was not such a difference between the People before the Veil. And the spirits who will aid you number beyond counting—”  
“And you? The other Evanuris? The Veil’s removal won’t make them more powerful? They have had thousands of years to win spirits to their side—”  
“ _No_ , Ilan, they have not. They cannot reach the Fade as you can. They have been ripped from it even more completely. There will be some spirits who side against you, but it will not be for love of the Evanuris. _Trust_ in me. I will not lie to you, the chances of surviving are not large, but I would not have brought you to Arlathan if they were nonexistent.”  
“I knew this would be a terrible battle, that I would likely not survive, but I did not know _this_. I didn’t know it would be so easy to defeat us, to wipe us utterly away—”  
“It will not be easy. And I will not allow you to be forgotten.”  
There were voices in the tower behind them. “Come,” said Solas, “We must find the Qunari’s commander before she can destroy the Inquisition. I do not want them stumbling into the Viddasala unprepared.”   
Ilan looked doubtful but followed him through the eluvian. 

A large unit awaited them in the broken tower on the other side. Too many for Ilan.   
“Back through, quickly! Find Abelas,” shouted Solas.  
“But—”  
The tower rang with the crack of Solas’s mind blast. Half of the Qunari crumpled around him, but the others did not hesitate to take their place. “Now, Ilan!” he shouted, pushing the boy into the mirror. The silver rippled and swallowed him. Solas wrenched the eluvian from its destination. That mirror would not lead here any longer. Ilan and the Inquisitor were safe. For the moment. The Qunari around him froze and shattered. _Foolish_ , he told himself, _I need them to tell me what lies beyond the dormant mirror. Restrain yourself._ They’d been using the tower as barracks. He searched for clues among their kits. Dozens of barrels of gaatlok gleamed in stacks against the walls. This was much bigger than even the plot he’d uncovered. They could take out half of Val Royeaux with what was in the tower alone. There was little to find here. He retreated to his old valley again. 

Abelas found him in the old armory.   
“Is Ilan safe?” he asked.  
“Yes,” said Abelas. “Gone to keep an eye on the Inquisitor after she returned to the palace. His face is not familiar to her, she will not notice him as she would me. He was— shaken. I gather you have finally allowed him to see the true extent of your power?”  
“It was a mistake,” admitted Solas. “He is frightened of me.”  
“He should be. It was reckless to leave them in the dark for so long. It will give him more resolve when we return to training.”  
“Or break his will.”  
Abelas frowned. “They are more resilient than either of us have given them credit for. Thousands of years they have endured what would have been torture to us. You should not doubt them.”  
He was silent. It was not his people that he doubted, only himself.

 

“I chased the Qunari through another mirror. I don’t know where they found the key. Anaris’s tower perhaps,” said Abelas. “It led to one of the roads in the durgen’len kingdom. But there were signs of our own people there. The Qunari are using their explosives to mine lyrium.”  
Solas was surprised. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. Their stockpile of gaatlok is quite large, I feared it was intended to do more damage to southern Thedas. But if they are using it for lyrium— what _use_ do they have for it? The Qunari abhor magic.”  
“I don’t know. I did not linger, I was far outnumbered.” He hesitated. “I wanted to tell you— she is in pain. The echoes of your magic are reacting to the mark. Her colleagues fear she is dying. They discuss it when she is not near.”  
Solas nodded. “I must intervene soon. But I must stop the Qun from starting a war first. We _must_ find out what lies beyond the closed eluvian.”  
“I lost those I did not follow through the eluvian. I do not know if any remain in the Crossroads.”  
“Gather the others. Meet me at the old shrine. We cannot let them reach Arlathan if I fail to contain them.” He took a deep breath and began the spell to reach all of those he’d recruited. “Garas vhenas,” he murmured.   
Abelas seemed surprised but offered no objection. “I will see you at the shrine,” he said. He took a step and then turned back. “I hope you will not be alone when I next meet you.” 

 

The only option was returning to the vir’dirthara. He’d searched for remaining Qunari for some time, but they’d fled. Only the spirits remained and they had not stopped to ask questions of the invaders. Even if they had somehow eluded him and retreated through the closed eluvian, the ghil-dirthalen might know what they sought and where they had gone.   
It pained him to hear what the ghil-dirthalen said of the aftermath of the Veil. He had not had the chance to speak with them at length before, but now, with the halls so silent, he was compelled to listen. If only he’d had the time to warn them, to give his people a chance to flee to safety. _There was no place that was safe,_ he told himself. _Everything shattered in an instant._   
But the answers he needed were among the bitterness and angry memories. The librarians had forced a retreat. The Qunari were regrouping in the Inverted Ward and intent on making a push for the eluvian. Something called the darvaarad lay beyond. It was as he’d feared. The mirror would lead him to their territory if he could not halt them. He followed the paths through to the Inverted Ward. Bran spotted him as soon as he stepped through. “It’s him!” the man cried, grabbing a sword. “It’s Solas. He’s mad! Working for— for—”  
“Warn the Viddasala,” shouted another. He advanced on Solas while Bran raced for another eluvian. A burst of Fade flame and the man dropped. Solas ignored the others and chased Bran through the eluvian. But the man was long gone, disappeared through another path. There were so many lying open. Solas was frustrated. He had no time to root them out. He glanced at the eluvian that led to the Winter Palace. She was right there. All he had to do was walk through. Save her. By now she knew that he was here. She must. She’d walked through his old sanctuary, spoken to his allies. Did the others know? Had she told them? Would Cassandra and Varric attack him on sight? Would she fight beside him or choose them?  
 _Patience,_ he told himself, _speed will only make things worse. Make you miss something._ He climbed the steep slope of the waterfalls to watch. The Qunari would return through here. They must. And when they did, he would be ready.


	96. Forgive those who Trespass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZ3nPPMHms0&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=66

He did not need to wait long. The Viddasala emerged from an eluvian, her fist closed around her pet mage’s chain. A large group of others followed and she shouted orders as the mage cast a spell to open the mirror. They passed through, trailing a few at a time. Solas leaped down and slammed into the last soldier who’d been keeping watch. The soldier struggled a moment before dissolving to ash. Solas wiped the cinders from his armor and entered the eluvian. He left it standing open behind him, knowing the Inquisitor would follow. Safer that way, knowing where she was, what waited for her ahead. He could eliminate the bulk of the Qunari and draw her to the shrine before the anchor strengthened too much. If the others intended him harm, the presence of his own agents might dissuade them without violence. 

 

He turned away from the mirror and rage clawed at him. The relics of his people destroyed. Dozens of eluvians shattered, the fine glass shimmering against the stone walkways. He could hear the crash of more being smashed ahead. Were they trying to prevent him from following? _Fools. As if I would be stopped so easily. They are frightened. Good._ He followed the sound, slipping in and out of the Fade, erupting in a plume of smoke behind a soldier only to knock him from the parapet and then behind another before spearing his throat with a sharpened icicle. The fortress was crawling with them. The Viddasala had collected more Qunari than he had expected. If this plot were the product of a splinter group, then the Qun had a larger rebellion on its hands. If not— Solas shook his head and allowed Fade flame to swallow another soldier. Time enough to worry about the Qun later. It was likely they would not have an opportunity to repeat the plot. By now most of Thedas’s leaders knew what was intended. They would not be taken unaware again. 

 

Voices from the stairs behind him. Varric’s, certainly. Dorian? He longed to turn back, but there were still too many Qunari between them and the shrine. He sped on. Shouts ahead. They’d spotted him. There was not much thought after that, just a whirl of movement and the smell of burning skin and cries cut off midstream. There were somehow always more of them. He had a brief flash of Ilan’s shocked face. If he had been with Solas, he might have drawn comfort from Solas’s fatigue in facing so many. _If he were with me, he’d be dead,_ Solas admitted to himself. _And if I do not hurry, they will turn on the Inquisitor as easier prey._   
A shout to close the gate ahead. The creak of large hinges above as he swept through, a deep thud as a blow hit his chest and bounced from his armor. “Barrier,” he muttered. Another mind blast rocked the fortress as he pushed them away. A metal piece of his chest plate dug in to his skin where the blow had landed, but he was uninjured. “Where is your leader?” he snarled, picking up an elf who had fallen in the blast. The elf just grunted and tried to twist away. “Leave this place. Go back to your own lands. Your plan is discovered. It _will_ fail.”  
The elf sneered. “The Qun does not fail. All paths will lead back to it.”  
“Leave, or you will not be alive to see it.”  
The elf lunged for a dagger at his waist, others began to close in. Solas gave up and dropped him, the elf ossifying before he hit the ground with a clunk. More hurried to take his place, falling into stillness one after another. An eluvian stood open ahead. Something roared as Solas raced down the steps toward it. He glanced back. 

There was the dragon they’d been using to make the gaatlok. Chained and raging. The Viddasala’s voice rang out from the stairway. He looked up as she issued an order to kill him. But something caught her attention. He felt it tugging hard enough to be painful. The anchor was close. He made for the portcullis between the Inquisitor and himself, but was thrown back by a powerful barrier. The saarebas were among the soldiers. He needed a moment to regroup, to think— he could draw them away from the Inquisitor at the same time. He threw a flickering wave of Fade flame. It went wide but the soldiers flinched. They were emboldened by the miss, thought he was flagging and thought it their time to press the advantage. He turned to the eluvian and wrenched it into his control, sprinting through as he did. He emerged just a short distance from the shrine. In his own valley. Qunari tumbled through one after another, hesitating for an instant when they realized they were not where they expected. But Solas remained before them, and their orders had been clear.

 

“You are not welcome here. Go home while you still may,” he shouted. A few faltered. But the large soldier in back smacked them with the flat of his sword.   
“Katara!” he shouted and they rushed for Solas again.   
He was disappointed but unsurprised. He’d given them ample opportunity to retreat. And reason enough to do so. For the Inquisitor’s sake, to prove that he wasn’t cruel. That he’d changed. _Prove to her? Or to myself?_ he wondered, leading them farther toward the shrine. It hardly mattered. The experiment had failed. With the anchor threatening to overwhelm her and rip another abyss in the Veil, it was long past time to end this.  
He led them through the mirrors, lingering only long enough to be certain they realized where he had gone. He could hear the Viddasala shouting just before they reached the shrine and panic warred with grim satisfaction within him. Had she killed the Inquisitor? Or simply abandoned her for a greater quarry? He turned, stopped fleeing. “Stop,” he said simply, “I will allow you to trespass no farther.” 

 

A sea of roaring blades rushed toward him. He held up a hand, more as a signal, a warning, than true need. The first man was a statue. Then another. It did not stem the tide. The Viddasala’s shouts were shocked and desperate. It was a different thing, hearing tales of magic from the tongue of another and seeing your own men’s spirits ripped from their flesh before you. How well Solas had learned that lesson, long before the Qun.  
One by one, they all fell. The Viddasala stood staring at him from beyond the grove of statues that had once been her charge. “I warned you,” said Solas, “That the next time we met, I would not be kind. You should have left Anaris’s secrets where they lay. You should have abandoned this place.”  
“And I told _you_ that you would need Fen’harel himself to stop us,” she snarled, pushing through the statues to reach them.  
“Ah,” said Solas, “At least one of us listened. For I am he. Go. Tell the Qun that Fen’harel has returned. And these lands are under my protection. Do not let them renew their assault.” He turned away from her confusion. He had more pressing matters than one Qunari.  
Her feet were heavy on the steps behind him. “ _You,_ ” she cried, “Saarebas, you are why we are _here_.”  
He shook his head. “Ebasit kata. Itwa-ost.”  
“Maaras kata!” she shouted.  
He turned back to her. “Your forces have failed,” he tried to tell her, “Leave now, and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further.” It was his last attempt to warn her. He was unsurprised to hear the cry as she lifted her spear as he turned back toward the eluvian that would lead to Abelas and the others. A simple thought, and she was no more. 

He’d inform the others, tell them to make a sweep for those remaining and return to find— a splash behind him arrested the thought. And then— “Solas.” That voice. He closed his eyes for an instant as it rang in his ears. She was _safe_. He knew the expression she’d have when he turned, the naked happiness that would meet him. But the smile withered from his face as she cried out in pain and collapsed into the puddle at her feet. She looked up at him and shook her head. “Run, emma lath, I cannot hold it. Run!” Her body went rigid, arcing with the effort of maintaining a barrier around her, fighting against the anchor. It was a battle she was rapidly losing. His greaves clanged against the stone as he sank beside her. “Run,” she pleaded again. He clasped her marked hand and sapped the anchor’s magic as it lashed out with a crackle.   
“Do not fear for me, Vhenan,” he whispered, folding around her tightly. “It cannot harm me. And I can give us a little more time.” She sagged against him, her breath still ragged after the pain ebbed away. He waited until it smoothed before helping her rise again.  
“I thought the Qunari would hurt you,” she offered. “I wanted to help you, but—” she looked at the stone remains of the Viddasala. Her voice broke as she admitted, “but you’ve never needed me at all.”  
“That is _not_ true, my love.”  
She shook her head. “How can it not be true? You’ve kept me in the dark for two years. Varric tried to tell me you were dead— I started to believe him. That maybe Mythal had harmed you. Two years and not a solitary word— if you knew how many I had tried to send to you— how hard I’ve looked for some way—”  
“I _do_ ,” he said quickly, touching the shard she had sent him. “I found them all.” He did not add that he had seen her, had spoken to her in sleep. Or that he had left his own memory for her to find.  
“Then why did you not respond? Why _this_ way?”  
“Ir abelas, Vhenan. I believed this way was easier.”  
“Easier for who?” she cried, “For me? For you? I know you had to leave and why. I know I could not go with you. Not then. But never a word?”  
“I hoped, in time, you would find peace. Joy. I had no wish to interfere with that.”  
She laughed and it was bitter and small. “There is none for me. Have you found any?”  
“No.”  
She reached for him, her hand pressed to his cheek. “I’m _sorry_ ,” she said.  
“It has never been your doing. I _do_ need you, _have_ needed you, every day. But I hoped your days were brighter than my own, these past months. You were doing so much— so many others needed you, what was one man’s wish compared to that? I could not return. If the others knew what I mean to do, they would not understand. Not even if I showed them what I have shown you.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “The Inquisition turning against me was never unexpected. And hardly new. But to see them turn against _you_ for my mistakes— I could not let it happen.”  
“They’ve seen your valley,” she said, her breath warm against his face, “Between the murals and the Qunari information, they will work it out. I cannot protect your secret any longer. I fear it is only Cole who kept them from following me here.”  
“I am stronger now, than the man they knew. Than the man you knew. I have no need of secrecy any longer. But I will not remain to provoke them.”

 

“What?” she cried drawing back a step, “You’re not coming home?”  
“I have people that depend upon me. An army to hold back the Evanuris. I cannot bring them to Skyhold. Not without splitting our defenses to fend off those who should be our friends. I know what happened at the Council, Vhenan. I know they mean to take the Inquisition from you.”  
She flushed, ashamed and grieving. “The Inquisition died years ago. The Council is barely needed. I do not know half of my own forces any longer and the soldiers— they need to go home to their families. But Skyhold— you said it has been held with tiny groups before.”  
“So it has. But would you fight Cassandra when she came to take it from you and the monster she thought was trying to take the Maker’s place? Or Dorian when Tevinter forced him to address the ancient elf mage that threatened the world? That is what would happen if I were with you there.”   
She was quiet, turning to look back at the rippling eluvian behind her, where their friends waited. “If I must,” she admitted.  
“It is unnecessary. Skyhold is not the only place for my people. It is not the only place for you, either. Come with me, Vhenan. I crave you. I need you. Be with me at the end,” he pleaded.  
“But the Blight—”  
“I have a place to test your work, people to help us find the last parts of the formula. Indeed, they have already begun with the information you and Brosca have passed.”  
She shook her head. “It is not so simple. Your cure is almost complete, yes. But there are darkspawn beyond counting in the Deep Roads. Far below the dwarven kingdoms. When the Veil falls, the Forgotten Ones will have nothing to mute the Calling. The darkspawn will flood the world.”  
“I know,” he said.

 

“I _must_ find a way to stop them. To destroy them and give your people a chance to fight the Evanuris. A chance to save us. I cannot do that hidden away.”  
He shook his head. “Alas, you cannot do it anyhow, my heart. The mark— it will kill you. I can stem the magic for a time, it is why I drew you here. But it will return, despite me. You do not have time to—”  
“Would you place me among your own, then? A bomb to erupt in disaster for them all just to have me near? I cannot control it, Solas. I have tried. It escapes me, again and again.”  
 _To have you near, I would abandon all the world_ , he thought, but pressed it away. She would not have accepted that. “I will be there to hold it for you,” he said. He folded his hand around hers. “ _Come,_ ” he begged.  
“I cannot,” she said. “ _Stay_. There is always another way—” she broke off with a gasp as the anchor’s power welled painfully again. She gripped his hand as if she could hold him there.  
“I must take it,” he said gently, “We are running out of time.”  
“Please don’t. It is all that remains to me of you. It is all that I have left.” She curled into herself with a groan as another wave of agony overtook her.  
“Come with me. Forget your doubts. Forget the world and be happy in the time that remains. _Keep_ me,” he said, catching her as her knees buckled.  
“Ar vena a vir. Var lath vir suledin,” she said, clenching her teeth. She sank against him.   
“I wish it could, Vhenan,” he answered, the spell already prickling from his fingertips into the flesh of her arm.  
“It _will_. I will find a way and then return to you. I swear it,” she cried. He pressed a kiss into her lips. She shook with hurt as his spell crept through her arm and the bone began dissolving. There was a shout from the eluvian and he broke away. It was time to leave. He caressed her cheek, her jaw, wishing he could feel it through the metal of his armor.   
“The way will _always_ be open to you,” he whispered. “Ar lath ma.” What remained of her arm shattered beneath his hand. He rose and passed through the eluvian before his legs could betray him. One more spell, as Varric sped up the steps to find her. He watched Dorian lift her from the water and Cole stared through the mirror at him. The spell finished and the eluvian closed. Only she would be able to come here now. No other, not even his own agents would use this mirror. There was a hand upon his shoulder. He turned to see Ilan.

 

“I’m sorry,” said the boy.   
“You’ve seen then,” he said.  
“Yes.”   
“And you believed I have no weakness,” he said.  
Ilan frowned. “This is not a weakness. I’m going to Skyhold.”  
“It will soon be abandoned,” said Solas. “She will not remain long, if you mean to desert me for her.”  
“I don’t mean to desert anyone,” said Ilan. “But I’m not going to let her struggle alone. She has some idea, some hope of stopping this.”  
“There is no other way,” he insisted.  
“If that were true, she would have given in. She would have returned with you. And you don’t believe it either. If you did, you would have left her the anchor when she asked.”  
“I don’t—”  
“I’m not asking your permission,” said Ilan. “I will return with her and a way to defeat the Blight or not at all. I will send words and—” he tugged on the shard around Solas’s wrist. “I think you should send them back this time. She will not give up on you. It would be needless suffering to leave her in silence.”  
Ilan walked away. Solas turned back to the still eluvian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you there is more coming. Sorry for the long radio silence, chaotic release schedule the past few months. Don't worry, I won't end it like this.


	97. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q8Cq2kMB7_Y&index=69&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

It took him three uneasy nights to find her in the Fade. No word came from the Winter Palace, most of his people were pulling back, streaming homeward to greet those newly recruited and begin preparations to face the Evanuris in earnest. Even Ilan had sent no word. He would not have cared, the world outside Arlathan grew fuzzy, lost its urgency— except for the Inquisitor. His mind replayed the way her fingers had curled helplessly as the mark overwhelmed her, the way her teeth had clamped tight around a cry he knew was caught in her throat. Was she still suffering? How much time had he given her?  
When he finally found her, it was difficult to imagine how he could have missed her. Her pain was bright and hard and jagged, solid in the most changeable of places. It punched a hole in the hazy horizon of the Fade. He could follow it like a pole star, unwavering and undeniably _her_. He wondered if she’d slept at all since their meeting.   
The others could not be taking the revelations well, he knew. It was likely his former companions would try to keep information from him. Let them. It mattered little now. He wondered how much she had told them. If he had just tried harder, if he had asked in the right way— would she be beside him now? She had wavered. He’d seen it. If he’d pushed— There was little point in pursuing the thought. It was done, his chance passed, for good or ill. At least, here, perhaps, he could be of comfort and use to her.

She stood in the center of a vast maze of eluvians. The arm he’d taken had returned, pulsed with emerald agony, leaked and bruised the Fade around her. Her other hand clutched it, but she seemed to barely notice, twisting one way and then another. “Which one?” she muttered.  
He wove his way toward her— or, what he thought was her, the mirrors reflected more than the bright flicker of the mark, they dispersed the familiar tug of her magic, fractured and amplified her suffering until his own form seemed to burn with it.   
“Seven to the left and one— no. That was the tunnel,” she said, her voice floating away from him. “The frame— the frame was— halla? No. Owls? No.” She cried out and the light of the anchor flared. He sped up, yanking the Fade around them, closing in. “Which one?”  
“What are you seeking, Vhenan?” he asked, slipping past the last row of mirrors that separated them.  
She looked up from her arm in surprise. “ _You_. Always you.”  
His heart leaped and he smiled. “And you have found me.” He touched one of the eluvians it rippled with light. “They all will lead you back to me. There is no wrong route home. Do not fear.” He reached for her hand, the one that only existed here. “You needn’t even travel alone to Arlathan. Say the word and I will be at your side, take you from the Winter Palace or Skyhold or the empty Void itself.”  
She flinched as his hand closed around hers and shook her head. “ _Go_. It’s deteriorating. I can’t contain it. Blew up Isabella’s boat— Iron Bull and Dorian—” she sobbed.  
“You _didn’t_. The memory is confused here. That was over a year ago. The people you helped escape are safe. Iron Bull and Dorian are safe— _remember_.”   
She was quiet, staring at him. “Yes,” she said at last, “I remember now. But how did you know of that? My hand—” she looked down at the mark between them and her arm began to crumble beneath his fingers again. “— is gone. And you—”  
The eluvians around them began to shake. The chime of shattering glass echoed in the distance, racing toward them. He fought her, struggled to regain control of her dream. But something in her refused to be convinced.  
“Peace, Vhenan, I am not here to harm—” He flew backwards, shoved away from her, the memory of her arm ripping from her form as he gripped it. She cried out, reached for him with the other hand as the mirrors exploded in a blizzard of light and sound. And then the Fade was empty.

He woke, shaken. Had she meant to push him away? Had he frightened her? _Perhaps she has run out of patience at last. And even in her eyes I cannot be forgiven_ , he thought. It was hardly a surprise. How could she have forgiven him for this? He’d wounded her in so many ways—   
“It’s gone, but it hurts anyway. The way an echo hurts. Or a footprint left behind. Hollow and sore and wanting. She meant to pull you closer. To keep you there, to give you a good dream, once more. But it ached too much, and she woke,” said Cole, perched at the end of his bed. Solas sat up.  
“Her arm is aching? Does she have healers to ease her pain?” he asked.  
“Her arm, her heart, everything aches. And I cannot help her anymore. I’ve tried, but there is nothing the pain does not touch. I only make it worse.”  
Solas rubbed a hand over his scalp. “That makes two of us.”  
Cole shook his head. “No. It hurt to wake up, but she is peaceful now, remembering your voice, your face. Ready to return to the Council. She knows the dream was real. You must try again. She will need that peace again. The Inquisition will die today. And I will go home. To find help. For you, for her, for us all.” Cole clutched his own arm at the elbow. “Her body is healing. In time, it will not wake her, and she will not push you away. You have been silent a long, long time, Solas. She needs to hear you speak again. Until she listens.”  
Solas nodded. “You have always tried to steer me toward kindness, Cole. I will miss your aid. I hope you will find happiness.”  
Cole reached into a pocket. He pulled out an apple and dropped it into Solas’s hand. “Raining silver petals and her lips still taste of autumn, still taste of amber and red and move with the shape of the music. If only the amulet could freeze us there, a little longer—” 

Solas shut his eyes and closed off the thought. It was too painful. “Will we meet again, before the end?” he asked instead, not looking at the boy. Cole’s hand pressed his own closed around the apple.   
“I can’t tell the future. But you know the Fade as well as any. I can be found. Look for me where there is the most need.”  
He opened his eyes and watched the spirit peering at him. “We will meet again, then. The need for compassion will be dire, indeed, at the end.” He stood up and Cole jumped down from the end of his bed. “I will miss you, Cole. The world will miss you.”  
“The world will miss you, too,” he said. “You could stay. You can’t tell the future either. That other world, the one you think you will save, it may never come to pass. Or something else may go wrong. Sometimes it’s like digging in sand. You pull away the hurt and another slips in to fill the hole. Sometimes worse. What will you do to keep the hurt from burying you, Solas? Will you keep abandoning us to try again until everything goes as you have planned? Until you find a world where we all behave like the story you have in your head? There are no surprises there. I’ve been there, I live there. It is the Fade without Dreamers. Unchanging. Ungrowing. There could be no Cole in that world. No Inquisitor. No _story_.”  
“If I stayed, there would be no Cole, no Inquisitor and no world anyway. Anything I do to help would be useless. A reed standing against a hurricane.”  
“You could _try_.” Cole grasped his hand and stared intently at him. “I can hear you. You cannot hide from me. I know you would rather die with us, in a world where we existed, than live in a world that would never know us.”  
Solas shook his head. “What _I_ wish is of no consequence—”  
“Isn’t it? You are the only one who would know. Ants in a hill, Dorian says. One of their tiny trails crumbled in. The path to their nest interrupted. They make another tunnel to get there. But the first path remains. Unusable, empty, but there. If they could repair it instead, should they mourn the tunnel they never dug to replace it? You are not responsible for people that don’t yet exist. We are not them.”  
“But I cannot repair it, Cole. Should I let the nest die rather than make a new path?”  
The boy sighed. “You are not the only ant who can forge it. But _you_ made this world what it is. It is your child, for good or ill. No one else can understand what waits on the other side of this change. Not even the Inquisitor. Not even me. You told me that sometimes comfort is all we have to give. You said it _mattered_.” Cole shook his head, still sensing Solas’s resistance. “Goodbye, Fen’harel,” he said and his face twisted in bitter disappointment as he stuttered out.

It stung. The dream, the parting with Cole, the name that he never thought he’d earn. He was about to push it aside, put it away for some quieter time, but the small fragment of his orb clicked as it swung against his wrist and he frowned down at it. There were people arriving today. New recruits, dozens of them. The first of several thousand. There was training to attend to and living arrangements to make for Abelas’s expanding army. There were measurements to take of the Veil and calculations to adjust. But this— “work must make way for _this_ ,” she’d said. He was willing to admit Cole was right about offering her comfort, at least. If she wanted him to talk to her, he couldn’t begrudge her that. Or himself. Say what he could not in sleep. He found a parchment.

_Eolasa sal, ar lath ma._ He drew the shrine’s eluvian in veilfire, the memory of the path from the Crossroads smooth and slow so she could follow. The passkey only, he kept back. If she had forgotten, he would remind her in dreams when he could. He couldn’t risk leaving it for another to find, as unlikely as it was. He hesitated, wanting to add more but— it was enough. This is all she needed to know. Just a reminder that he missed her, that he loved her, that he thought of her daily. He rose to find an owl that would carry it to her.

He did not try to find her again for several days. At first, it was not difficult. The days were so filled with new people, with clearing rubble and arranging lodgings and food, that he was too exhausted to wish for lengthy explorations of the Fade and the constant, distant pull of her magic on him reassured him that she was still there. But as the summer wound down and news of the Inquisition’s formal dissolution arrived, he found himself restless again. But the wound was deep, he knew. It could not have healed yet. He did not want to cause her worse pain. It was Ilan that pushed him into trying again. He had sent a messenger from the Council. 

“She has learned the lesson of the Qunari too well,” it read, “she does not believe I am one of yours. She refuses to allow me to accompany her. Please advise.”

He found Ilan in the Fade that evening. “Is she in pain?” he asked, with little preamble. To his credit, Ilan seemed unsurprised at his sudden presence.   
“She is recovering. I have not been allowed to examine her personally. But Master Pavus departed for Tevinter this morning. He would barely leave her side until yesterday. I believe the mark must be stable for him to agree to go, though she has been urging it for days.”  
“She is leaving as well?”  
Ilan frowned and Solas felt a prickle of anxiety ripple through the Fade. “It remains to be seen. The Ferelden representatives want to hold her— they think she is culpable for the Qunari’s insinuation into the Inquisition. The Divine has held them off thus far, but unless word comes from King Alistair soon, she may lose this battle.”  
 _They would not dare,_ he thought.   
“I don’t think she will wait for them to make a move, though. She has only been waiting for the others to leave. A willing hostage, bargaining for their freedom. At least— that is how it appears. I think she will try to slip away before dawn. But I— am stuck here unless I can prove that I am on her side. She will not accept a casual assurance.”  
Solas thought for a moment. “Tell her you’ll agree to any restriction.”  
Ilan recoiled.  
“She will not be unkind, lethallin. Tell her I left her something. Among her veilfire memories— one of my own. Until she finds it— tell her Cole helped me to find my teeth. Only I would tell you that.” He pushed Ilan from the Fade.

She did not sleep that night— or, she did not dream. He hoped it meant she was leaving the Winter Palace. Ilan did not return or send word and he tried not to worry. When he did find her, it was almost an accident. As if she’d been looking for him again, instead. They were on the road to Skyhold. He hadn’t intended it, but he found himself trudging through the deep snow anyway.  
“Are you going to cast? Or are you admitting defeat?” her voice floated beside him and he turned to find her standing beside him. A glance at the absence where her hand had been told him she was real and not a memory. He noted her face was bare now. Her mind had finally accepted it.  
“Never,” he said, though he wasn’t certain what she meant. “But I seem to have forgotten what the target was meant to be, Vhenan.”  
She laughed and pointed to an icicle hanging from a rocky outcrop. “That one. Mine was smaller, but I’ll go easy on you.”  
“I am not that rusty,” he said. “That one.” He pointed to another off to the right, an inch or two smaller and then a burst of flame left his fingertips and the ice splashed against the rock.   
“Show off.” She smiled.  
“You can do better?”  
“Find me another target.”   
“Very well.” His hands twitched and an exact copy of the icicle grew in the place of the one he’d hit.  
She shook her head but her smile remained.   
He saw it, when she realized she was dreaming. He saw the way she faltered as she raised both arms and for an instant they were whole before the missing one flickered out. The muscle in her jaw pulsed. She tried to ignore it, tried to hang on to the dream, but he could feel her slipping from him. She cast and the bolt of lightning careened off the snow a few feet from the icicle.  
“Don’t go,” she said abruptly, without looking at him. “I’ll try again. Stay.”  
He meant to reassure her, meant to tell her that the contest didn’t matter. The arm didn’t matter. But that shove came again and she cried out, the Fade shattering into an emerald burst of pain. She was gone again, awake and hurting.

Word came swiftly from Ilan after that. They’d returned to Skyhold, but it was emptying rapidly. The fortress was stripped, goods and armaments auctioned off or given away. She distributed it all, every last copper, sending it home with the soldiers and to build havens for the mages, donated to the refugees driven off by the Breach. Only the supplies in the Veilfire room remained, waiting. And his own things, sitting on the desk in the rotunda. Even the library emptied, divided between Vivienne and Varric. Ilan said she seldom wandered out of the training yard. Solas watched her dream of what she struggled with. Bathing. Casting. Saddling her horse. She caught sight of him, sometimes, out of the corner of her eye. He did not try to speak with her again, not there. It caused too much suffering. Still, for many months she’d vanish a few seconds after catching sight of him. He sent her a ring, one with an onyx stone. 

_I cannot replace what I have taken and I cannot give you all that I wish, but this should ease your casting. I should have given it to you years ago when your first staff snapped. Ir abelas, emma lath._

She did not dream of struggling with magic again, and his worries gradually eased. She left one morning, when the leaves of Arlathan were just beginning to fall. A raven reached him, its feathers silver with Ilan’s enchantment to guide it. The first time she tried to contact him since he’d taken her arm.

"I’m returning to my clan for a time. Keeper Deshanna has stories I need to hear. I know what you would say. But some stories are true, my love. I have a hope—" the words were obliterated. Too much for him to pull them into clarity. "Perhaps I will have a solution soon, if what I have discovered from the Shaperate can be verified. I am leaving your friend. And Sera has agreed to return. I would have a warm welcome for those who must take shelter here. If I have found no solution by spring, I will come home. I know you are aware of the Arlathven next moon— part of me wishes I would find you there, though I know I will not. Ar ebala ma."

Another leaf, golden and tiny folded in the crease in lieu of a signature. It still smelled of the Frostback wind. He was uneasy at her departure. No eyes to watch her, to make certain she was safe. No one for her to speak with when the clan questioned her. About the missing vallaslin. About him. About what she was searching for. 

He remembered the day she was told she’d been replaced as First. It was a bad day.  
The cold had been brutal, not easing even under the afternoon sun. No better than the Emprise du Lion had been and a shock after the warmth of the Arbor Wilds and the mild spring thaw of Crestwood. It was the chill that made him take notice of Vivienne and Leliana as he hurried down the causeway, anxious to return to the warmth of the keep. They were standing in the center, staring out at the mountains even as the wind whipped and slashed at them. If they noticed him passing, they didn’t indicate it.  
“We should go after her. She’s not wholly recovered from the lyrium,” said Leliana. “She’ll wear herself out. And Maker, it’s freezing.” He halted behind them, turning to look where they were staring.  
“No,” said Vivienne. “Let her get it out.” A series of flashes lit up a nearby hill. “She won’t be able to hear sense until she does. I couldn’t.”  
Leliana pressed a hand around Vivienne’s arm in sympathy. “You? Lose your temper? Never,” she said.  
Vivienne laughed. “I can promise you I was far younger— and more destructive than the Inquisitor. I’ve been told it took three days and seven mages to thaw the reception room afterward in the Ostwick tower. I was not there, of course. The First Enchanter thought it best that my talents be put to use in Montsimmard immediately. When I found my footing again, I realized what she will. The world will never be fair to people like us. The trick is to stop expecting to change it and to begin turning it to advantage. There are ways, if she is clever enough.” Another series of flashes erupted from the hillside. “And she is,” added Vivienne, her face hardening.

“What has happened?” asked Solas abruptly. Leliana spoke without turning toward him.   
“Clan Lavellan has chosen a new First. They sent a messenger to tell the Inquisitor. She left Skyhold almost an hour ago.”  
“That was hardly unexpected,” he said.  
“It is one thing to be worried for your position and another to actually lose it to someone less qualified,” said Vivienne. “It’s raw at the moment, but in time, she’ll realize that she has more influence here to help her people than any Keeper could possibly obtain. Leave her be. She’ll return in an hour as serene as ever. And more pragmatic.”  
He ignored Vivienne and headed after the Inquisitor. Pragmatism was not something she particularly lacked. And he had no desire to see her sorrow turn to bitterness.

The air crackled with ozone and she was panting when he reached her, drenched with sweat that was freezing her clothing. She threw another lightning bolt with a roar. It struck a boulder that was already blackened with soot. He stood and watched her. She was shivering and didn’t realize it, her hands still snapping with magic and taking aim again. But her spells were dwindling. He waited until she sank down into the snow, exhausted. Then he wrapped the fur he had carried around her without a word. She reddened, embarrassed.  
“I didn’t mean for anyone to see that,” she muttered. “You least of all.”  
“You think I wouldn’t understand?” he asked.  
“Why would you? Being Keeper must be a fool’s errand to you. Especially after I know the truth. You probably think I’m better off now. Not tied to that responsibility.”  
He rubbed her hands between his. “I think they are your family. And that you feel— rejected. Betrayed maybe. I understand that better than you know.”  
She shook her head in shame. “I doubt you blasted a rock for an afternoon and screamed.”  
“No,” he said, “I burned my face for an afternoon and screamed.”   
She looked at him, surprised. He pointed to the scar above his eye. “It was much worse at the time. A thousand years is a long time to recuperate.”  
It won him a small laugh, but it faded quickly. “I know _why_. Of course, I know why. I’ve been away for so long— I might not ever have the chance to return to them. Deshanna is not young, it’s wise of her to begin training another. And Cathorn will be a good Keeper. A strong Keeper. I am— glad that they will be so well looked after.”  
“But?”  
“I trained almost my whole life to become Keeper. Since my magic came. I am not a hunter or a craftsman or a warrior. I know where it is safe to travel, not how to skin an animal. And which settlements can be approached to trade with, not how to craft a bow or an aravel. And—” her voice cracked and became a sad whisper. “And the whole pack of _lies_ about what our history has been so I can repeat them without fail.” She sobbed and covered her face. He pulled her against him, pressing the fur closer to her chilled skin.  
“You are still a Keeper, Vhenan. You have a vast clan now.”  
“A clan I cannot save, even if we survive Corypheus. And if I did, if we somehow found a way— when this is all done, where will I go? What will I do? The world will dissolve the Inquisition, and I cannot go back to my clan. I cannot ask them to support another mage who provides nothing to the clan. I’ll just be— a discarded tool. A rusted sword to hang in some tavern with a story no one remembers. I am— _lost_.”  
“Deshanna named another to fill your role not because she believes you are unworthy of it, but because you are filling another. This man is not taking your place in their hearts. Your clan loves you. They will welcome you whenever you choose to return.”  
“As what? A broken old woman who does nothing but tell tales by the fire?”  
“Varric seems to get by rather well doing so,” he said. “But you have many things to offer your clan, if that is what you wish to know. You have seen more of the world than even your Keeper. You have relationships with most of the nobility in southern Thedas, and at least half owe you a favor. You have a fortress that could protect them, should they find themselves in danger—”  
“It is not mine—”  
“It _is_. More than you realize. I have not been idle. The spells that protect this place are tied to you now. When the Inquisition is gone, none except our closest friends will remember how to reach it. You could lead them here, if they are in need.” He brushed the sweaty hair from her face. “You are among the most practiced of mages in the world and you have conducted an extensive campaign of warfare thus far. You’ve secured supplies for multiple refugee camps and another clan. You’ve recovered artefacts our people long thought lost. Any one of those things would be a valuable contribution.” He stopped for a moment, traced her cold face with his fingertips. “And all of them pale in comparison to what you are already doing, not just for the clan, but for us all. You are not lost, my love, you are their lodestar. And mine. It only appears that way because others shift and swirl seeking _you_. When Corypheus is gone, there will still be inches to win, if that is what you want. When the Blight is conquered, there will still be problems to address, arguments to have.” He smiled at her. “They will just be smaller. You will never want for purpose. And your story will never be forgotten, even if it is only I who tells it.”

He wished he was with her. Perhaps he should go to the Arlathven— “We have a problem,” Loranil’s voice interrupted his thought.


	98. Sera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EVfA-omo2M&index=71&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

“We have a problem,” said Loranil. Solas turned to him. He had largely recovered from the gaatlok explosion but he remained deeply scarred, and would likely be so for the rest of his life. He’d tried to return to training but Abelas had found he could no longer raise his arms to wield either bow or sword and Loranil struggled to find his place. He’d been restless, watching the new elves enter Arlathan and take his role in the watches and patrols.  
“What kind of problem?” asked Solas.  
Loranil limped to the seat nearby and eased himself down. He winced as the stiff scars in his hip stretched. “The people coming to Arlathan, they haven’t kept our secret to themselves. They’ve brought family. Infants. Elderly. People like— me.”  
“Good,” said Solas, deliberately misunderstanding him, “we could use a dozen more like you.”

Loranil let it pass without comment. “They were only a few in the beginning— few could travel quickly with people who could not walk or ride. But it has been two months since you called them. They are beginning to arrive in earnest now. Abelas would house them with the fighters, but—” He leaned forward and watched Solas intently. “Is there _any_ hope at all of survival?” he asked.  
Solas’s fingers tightened around the Inquisitor’s scroll. _I have a hope—_ “There is always hope,” he said and was surprised that he believed it.  
“Then— we should send them away. Somewhere safe. Where there’s a chance they’ll escape. These people— they cannot help in this war. And we can’t ask their loved ones to stand with us while they are in danger. There’ll be desertions, panic as people try to defend their families. If they are removed from the Blight, somewhere the Evanuris will not find for a time— I would offer my clan’s hospitality, but—” he shook his head sadly.

It was something Solas hadn’t considered. Again, his own solitude had lulled him into thinking that others would be as willing as he to devote themselves to this war. How foolish he’d been not to plan for families and loved ones. The Inquisition had always cared for the refugees it found— or created. It ought to have been habit. He had been happy to offer help where he could, but practical planning… he sighed. “A thousand years to plan only to find myself woefully ill-prepared.” He laughed softly at himself. “We’ll send them to Skyhold,” he said. “It will take very few of our forces to defend it and the Inquisitor has left it well prepared for a contingency like this. Ilan is already there and Sera should be arriving shortly.”  
“And the Inquisitor?” asked Loranil.   
Solas shook his head. “She is traveling to Wycome.”  
Loranil stood up. “I want to go with them. They will need more than Ilan and Sera to hold the keep should the worst happen.”  
“Loranil— you are not—”  
“I _know_. I can’t wield a weapon. I can’t use magic like you— though, that might change, in the end. But I know that fortress as well as Sera. Better than Ilan. I know how to use its bones to shield us. I know every shortcut and tunnel, every weak point in the walls. I can plan. And I can build. And I can be of _use_ there. Let me go. Let me be part of this.”  
There was no reason to fight him. He would be safer there, regardless of whether he could fight or not. He was kind and courageous, the recklessness of youth burned away by the gaatlok— he would be a good leader. “Very well. I will help you bring them safely there. I wish to see Sera once more. And lay some final wards with my own hands.”  
Loranil nodded. “I will make certain they are ready by the morning after next,” he said.  
Solas thought there was a good chance there would be a fairly constant stream of people traveling to Skyhold as the rest of the elves came home, but the boy was eager to be active again, so he let him go. Solas had another to convince in the meantime.

He started casually. He should have known better. Vhemanen was no fool. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said that evening. Vhemanen looked up from the large scroll she was squinting at.  
“Oh?” she asked. “Has she finally returned with you? I knew she would.”  
He laughed but it snagged in his throat. “No. The Inquisitor is going to Wycome.”  
Vhemanen scowled and returned to the scroll. “Some new general then? Another boy to babysit?”  
He sat beside her. “A woman this time. And others— you will like her. I think she will love you. She’s— not good with authority.”  
She glanced up at him, suddenly interested. “Neither am I. Or you, come to think of it. What’s she want with me? I’m a little slower than I was when we used to run from the gardener, Solas.”  
He smiled. “You won’t be clipping rude things into hedge figures.” He laughed. “Well— with Sera, you never know, but I don’t think anyone’s planted any at Skyhold.”

She closed the scroll and the merry spark in her eyes faded. “You’re sending me away?” she asked.  
“I need your help,” he said. “And you really will love Sera.”  
“Harellas,” she hissed. “You see an old woman and you want her out of the way—”  
“ _No_.” He closed a hand over hers to calm her. “I truly need your aid. Abelas will refuse and would be angry if I asked for another. He cannot refuse me with you. You are my oldest living friend. I would not trust it with anyone else.”  
She watched him, wary and frozen, waiting for the trick. 

“Loranil says there are dozens of families arriving every day. Young children, the ill— people who cannot fight and who would be the first to fall. We must send them somewhere safer than here. I know this will touch all the world eventually, but I would spare them as long as possible. And I cannot have my forces worrying for them when Elgar’nan begins searing the battlefield. I need them all to be focused. I am taking them to Skyhold, but I can’t remain there while there is work to do here. Ilan is valiant, but he is young, untested. And Loranil doubts himself after his injuries. He will be slow to decide when pressed, slow to trust his own judgment. Sera is quick and loyal and smart, but she thinks only of the immediate. She will shine in the heat of battle, but she will not remember to plant crops or prepare medicine— or bake.”   
Vhemanen’s smile returned slightly.   
“Skyhold is my last hope. The Inquisitor will return there, in the end, should she survive, and our people fall back to it, should Arlathan fall. Abelas will not abandon his duty, not even to fight another day. There is no one else I can rely upon to keep it secure for them. Please, Vhemanen, if I could remain there myself—”  
“Does the foundation remain?” she asked.  
“It is there. And readied.”  
She sighed. “I thought I was done with guarding things.”  
He squeezed her hand. “If I have asked too much—”  
“No. It is not too much.” She watched him for a moment. “Don’t make me wait so long this time. Or I might not be there when you return.”  
“Do not wait for me, falon. I will not be returning.”

Sera was not pleased to see them. _She is not pleased to see **me** ,_ he corrected himself. She stood at the far end of the drawbridge, an arrow aimed at his chest. Ilan tried to disarm her but she snapped her attention to him with a sharp glare and he withdrew. “You don’t get to come back here, Droopy,” she shouted at him. Solas held up his hands to show he was unarmed.  
“I know,” he said. “I’ll come no farther. But there are refugees here. People that need your help.” _What was it Cole had said? Food. Bed. Touch. Love. They make her world._ “They need a place. One without nobility to push them around or hurt them. And a good meal. And quiet. I cannot give it to them. But _you_ can.”  
She hesitated. “How do I know they aren’t spies? Won’t turn on Buckles the second she gets back?”  
“Do you truly think I would hurt her?”  
The arrow flew and twanged off the stones at his feet. “Came back missing bits, didn’t she? Not just her glowy bit either. Half-touched, she were, and getting worse. You stuffed her head with _shite_ and then let her wander back alone. She’s hurt. You did it. Won’t let you do it again.”

He had deserved that. “Would I use infants, Sera?” he asked, giving up. There was no excuse he could make to her that she would accept. There was none he could make to himself, either. The bow lowered slightly.  
Loranil spoke up. “Please, Sera,” he said and limped forward. She gasped.  
“Loranil? Inquisitor thought you were dead. Had patrols out for you and Sevren every day for weeks.”   
He made his way slowly across the bridge toward her. “I know. I was injured. Sevren is safe. We need help, Sera. And you need help to keep Skyhold.”  
She frowned. “Yeah. Come in then. Except Droopy. You take one more step and I’ll shatter your heart, elf-god-thing or not. Be glad to be rid of you, but I’ll settle for seeing the back of you.”  
Solas nodded. “Very well.” 

The train of aravels rattled across the bridge and he moved away. Vhemanen found him.   
“On dys, falon,” she said, “Sule halam.”  
“Tas ma. Ma serannas.”   
She hugged him and slipped away, tottering over the bridge. Sera stood, bow in hand, watching him until the bridge rose and sealed Skyhold away from him. He cast a long warding spell, wove it into the rock around the fortress until the sky glowed a soft emerald around it. Then he made his way back to Arlathan alone.

He tried once more, in his solitary camp to reach her. He knew she’d reached her clan because her dreams were all of grim elves, speaking whispers about her as she wandered through a maze of squat shacks on the edge of Wycome. Did it reflect what she’d actually found? Or was it only her fear haunting her? It mattered little. The dream was a sad one and he wished fervently to change it. He pulled away the shacks one by one as she walked, replacing them with old growth trees. The Brecilian forest as he’d seen it in autumn. Shaggy with ancient moss and cool earth underfoot. Silent except for the rush of the breeze through the leaves. The flicker of light gone scarlet and gold and green through the leaves. When she noted it, he watched her pause. Watched her turn toward him. She saw him and stopped, but the push he’d braced for did not come. Instead, the familiar tug of her magic, trying to see if he were truly there. He walked toward her, willing her not to disappear. The fallen leaves rose slowly behind him, behind her, swirling around them. He came to a stop just a hands breadth from her and the spiral of leaves pressed in and glowed as he remembered her spell had. He waited but she did not press him away.  
“I ought to have brought you blackberries,” he said.  
She smiled but it withered. “I _miss_ you,” she said. “Why do you disappear when I try to reach you?”  
She didn’t know then. “I’m sorry,” he said. It did no good to tell her. It might make it happen again. “I fear hurting you,” he admitted. “After all this time— I begin to find things easier outside the Fade, instead.”  
“Can I— will you let me touch you?”  
“This is _your_ good dream, Vhenan. We can do whatever you wish.”  
She reached for his face and that was when he saw it happen, when her arm dissolved at the elbow, the continuity denied by a mind that knew it could not be. That realization that part of her was gone, that vacancy, the phantom pain that seemed to shock her each time. He had a glimpse of the agony in her face before she stuttered out, before the heavy shove came. It was enough to discourage him from trying again. Nothing was worth her waking into that grief. No longer would he try to reach her in the Fade. No longer would he disturb her rest. He would only watch, only guard.

Until the night he found her weeping in Skyhold again and couldn’t resist. She’d left her clan quickly, that much he knew, though it was unclear whether she’d been forced out or had left of her own volition. She’d sent nothing, except a few hunters and another mage. They’d arrived at the gates of Arlathan, coming overland rather than through the network. They’d said little of her, only enough to make him believe she’d sent them. He’d gathered enough from their shame to know that only those few had believed her when she told them of him. Of what was to come.   
And he’d heard from his agents at the Arlathven that she’d been thought mad, traveling from camp to camp in search of stories about the Forgotten Ones, this unmarked elf who knew too much and offered only a strange story of the gods who weren’t and a warning of their return. It pained him to think of her suffering the same ridicule he had, but he lost her. She disappeared from where his agents could track her. The Fade was all he had left of her and he watched, obsessively, waiting for some clue of where he’d gone. Her dreams were often confused, strange faces, strange architecture— dwarven, he thought, though he could not recognize it. And then the night she dreamed herself in her old quarters, trying to brush her hair with one arm. _Maybe this time_ , he thought, _maybe the loss won’t be a surprise. Maybe I won’t shock her_. So he knelt on the bed behind her and tried again. 

_Damn Dorian_ , he thought as he woke, and yet— he was lighter, more hopeful than he’d been in months. She’d let him in. She’d spoken with him instead of shrinking away, instead of waking in pain. She’d kissed him and left quietly, when she was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you are keeping track, this chapter brings us back to the first chapter's chronological point


	99. Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ALnh3w32VE

The cold had closed in, choked off the city with snow as blizzard after blizzard swept through the forest. It was wearing on now, they’d expected the thaw for some weeks, but winter clung on. Solas half willed it to linger, knowing he could not put off the spell for much longer. The spring would be the last with the Veil. If he were lucky, it would hold until summer, but the recent readings had been dire. 

He despaired of finding the Inquisitor. She was no longer activating the amplifiers and he had not been able to find her, not even to sense her in the Fade for more than a month. He tried to convince himself that she only slept at different hours or that she was distant and he couldn’t reach her, but his heart began to doubt. Another anniversary of the Breach had come and gone without the slightest signal from her. No dream, no message, no sighting at Skyhold. Nothing. It gnawed at him, the fear that she’d fallen somewhere, alone and unmourned. That she had been frightened or grieving when it happened. Dorian had told him once that they were all prepared for it, for her death, but he found himself blindsided by the idea of it, even after all this time. _Why did I not take the amulet and steal her? Leave this world to its fate_ — He let the thought skitter away. It was an ugly one. He already knew why he hadn’t chosen that path. 

“You are distracted, Solas. Shall I return another time?” asked Abelas.  
He shook himself free of the ideas that haunted him. “No. I apologize. There is much left to do and I have been— unfocused. What were you saying about the training? Most of the recruits appear to have good form.”  
“Perhaps. But most of them aren’t prepared for the reality of gaining new abilities. The remaining Elvhen still recall how it felt to swim in an ocean of magic, but these elves— they’ve only learned to fear it. We cannot undo generations of false teaching in a few months. Their casting forms are adequate, but it is entirely different to experience it. There are too few mages among them. It will be chaos.”  
Solas sighed. “What would you have me do? I cannot give them magic without lowering the Veil.”  
“Not here. But you could walk the Fade with them. Would that Felassan were still among us, he could have helped. Feynriel might be trained to assist you. Even if it is only in dreams, they would have some experience of the sensations before the true battle. The Evanuris will not wait while they acclimate.”  
“It is a sound plan,” agreed Solas, swallowing the barb about his friend. “I’m not certain they will take the knowledge with them into the waking world, too many seem to discount what occurs in dreams, but I will try.”  
“Good.”

“Is there more news from Tevinter?”  
Abelas shook his head. “Their forces grow, but there has been no movement of the troops. Winter is a poor time for a siege if that is what they intend. And your old friend is making a great deal of trouble in the magisterium. With our help, of course. I believe they are too occupied to concern themselves with us yet.”  
“I hope it lasts. I have no desire to fight more wars than we already must. The Blight research—” A draft of chill air swept up the steps as the temple doors swung open and he stopped.  
Footsteps on the stairway and Sevren’s voice rose up them. “They should be just up here.”  
Solas turned from the table they were standing beside. Abelas was staring down the stairwell. His hand closed around Solas’s shoulder as if to steady him. Sevren emerged first, reaching back to help someone. Solas had an instant of dread that it was Vhemanen, that something had happened to her or to the people in Skyhold, but the thickly cloaked figure was not stooped like Vhemanen. When she looked up and he caught a glimpse of her eyes his heart stuttered painfully in his chest.

“Solas,” said the Inquisitor.  
He was too shocked to respond. Abelas glanced at him and stepped in.  
“Andaren atish’an, Inquisitor,” he said.  
Her face was mostly covered with the cloak, but the edges of her eyes crinkled in a smile as she turned to him. “I am not an Inquisitor any longer, Abelas,” she said.  
He held out a hand to grasp hers. “Sentinel, then. You are most welcome lethallan. We have been concerned.”  
The skin around her eyes smoothed. The smile had dropped away. Solas remembered to breathe at last. “You may not feel that way when I tell you why I am here,” she said.  
He didn’t care why she had come. He didn’t care what awful news was about to drop from her lips. She was there. She was safe and whole. A distant part of him tried to exert cool reason onto his reaction, but in his deepest heart he knew whatever madness she was about to propose, he’d agree to. Her eyes turned back to him. He longed to see her face, forgot that he had yet to greet her, to acknowledge her at all.

“I’ve found another way, but you will not like it. It is not perfect, and I would keep looking, but—” her voice cracked and those eyes grew overbright in the candlelight, “I am running out of time.”  
“Any advantage will be welcome,” said Abelas.  
The Inquisitor glanced at Sevren and he flushed and grew awkward. “Ir abelas,” he murmured, “I have duties to—” He scrambled back down the stairs. She waited until the cold rippled back up and away as the temple door opened and shut again.  
“I need you to wake them,” she said, watching Solas.  
“Wake them? Who?” asked Abelas. But Solas knew. And Abelas realized almost instantly. “You cannot mean— you don’t know what you’re asking.” He shot a glance at Solas.  
“I do. I know. I’ve tried other methods, but I— am not like them. No one is, not even you, Abelas,” she said. “I need an Evanuris to help us.”  
Abelas shook his head, his face drawing back into an angry snarl. “You _don’t_. They will not help us. Not one of them. It is not what they do. They take and they slaughter and enslave. We are— cattle to them. Less than cattle. Mythal, alone, would have aided us and she is gone. This is madness—” 

Solas held up a hand to interrupt. “Why do you need an Evanuris?” he asked her, startled to realize it was the first time he had spoken. He immediately regretted not saying something softer, something loving. She seemed not to notice, eager to sell this strange request to him.  
“Do you remember what Warden Clarel intended? The deal that she thought Corypheus was making with her? She wanted to wipe out the archdemons all at once—”  
“It was folly,” he answered, “as likely to lead to chaos and a flood of darkspawn as it was to ending the Blight.”  
“Yes!” she agreed, “But I have been thinking about it since Adamant. The Wardens know the key to ending a Blight is killing an archdemon because it is the mind that leads them. Without it, the darkspawn don’t attempt to surface, they linger in the Deep Roads in small bands instead. They may attack trespassers, but without the Calling, they have no collective purpose.”  
“But they would remain there, multiplying until the next archdemon arrives. A vast army just waiting for the order to attack,” said Abelas.  
“That is why the Wardens thought eliminating the archdemons would prevent any further Blights. But they didn’t understand what an archdemon is. Neither did I, not truly. Not until Wisdom’s library. But you told me yourself, Solas. The Forgotten Ones tested the Veil for weakness, became archdemons and escaped with the help of the darkspawn. The Wardens were wrong because they cannot really die with the blow of a sword, just as Mythal did not die.”

Abelas grew pale with rage at the mention, but held his peace.  
“Just as Corypheus did not die until all the fragments of him were destroyed. Morrigan knew this. It is what saved Warden Brosca. It’s why Mythal wanted Kieran. He had a fragment of Urthemiel within him, just as Flemeth carried a fragment of Mythal. We can never destroy the Blight that way. But if we can persuade an Evanuris to inhabit a dragon, before the madness of the red lyrium takes them, if we can convince them to use the Calling, to draw the darkspawn somewhere deep, deep into the infected titan, we can destroy them with one battle.”  
“But there are _thousands_ of them—” Solas started but Abelas turned to glare at him.  
“You can’t be considering this. Not truly.” He turned back to the Inquisitor. “You don’t _understand_. They will not help us. They are just as bad as the Forgotten Ones. Anything to gain more power, to hold their godhood secure. They will not care if it means swallowing the world in darkspawn. They will not care if their people die or turn or the land itself sickens. So long as they remain, so long as they defeat their rivals. You cannot do this. I know your myths. I’ve heard them repeatedly in the time we’ve been here.” He grasped her shoulders and Solas tensed, expecting to need to intervene, but Abelas only pleaded with her. “I _wish_ they were what you think. I wish that they were as benevolent and generous as your stories. But they are not.”  
“There must be one who—” she cried.  
“No. Not one.”  
“Sylaise, Ghilan’nain, surely—”  
Abelas shook his head. “No, lethallan. It was Sylaise who kidnapped and tortured children in order to force their mothers into servitude to her. Ghilan’nain fed her slaves to wild beasts to prepare them for Andruil’s hunts or used magic spells to grow horns or talons on her victims, transforming them into abominations. We are _nothing_ to them. They did not hesitate to kill one of their own. Why would our fate give them any pause? No. Mythal alone would have done this. If you offer this knowledge to the Evanuris, they will only use it against one another. A dozen darkspawn armies clashing over all the world and us in the middle.” He stopped, his face twisting to stare at Solas, that same disbelieving, pleading look for him as well.  
“We have to _try_ ,” she insisted. “What alternative is there? Perhaps they have softened after all this time.”

Abelas groaned and rubbed his temple as if it pained him. “The alternative is giving them justice. I mean to avenge Mythal. To avenge _us_. Everything, every pain we’ve suffered, every death, the loss of the Fade and ourselves— it is all due to them. We cannot escape our fate, but I will not allow them to slip free of it either. They will not survive us. Not one of them.”  
“But if we _could_ escape, if we could wipe out the Blight— would you doom us all to sate your anger?”  
Solas felt the sensation of her hand on his face in the dark. Of Mythal speaking quietly to Elgar’nan in the brittle cold of endless winter. He did not expect it to work on Abelas. He did not have the same reasons to yield that Solas did. But the Sentinel paused, backed up a step, as if she’d given him a blow. “Even if we did convince one of them, even if this insanity worked and all went as it ought to,” he asked, “how do you mean to destroy that many darkspawn? The Wardens are too few, even our own forces are too few to conquer so many especially if we are already battling the other Evanuris.”  
“Both the Wardens and the Legion of the Dead are ready to join me in the Deep Roads. And Dorian is working to turn the might of Tevinter toward aiding you here.”  
“Aid us?” asked Solas, “All indications are that they intend to invade.”  
She shook her head. “I have been careful— _we_ have been careful. The magisterium does not know all, but they know that you are facing a grave danger to all of Thedas. I have only to send word to Dorian.”

“It is still not enough,” said Abelas.  
“I know,” she admitted, “but there is still the anchor. I will follow the Calling to where the darkspawn gather. In a few months, perhaps less, the mark will become uncontrollable again. If we are fortunate, I will be in the center of the horde when the power is at its apex and it will destroy them. It still may not be enough. There will be a good deal of darkspawn left afterward, but they will be scattered for a time. Easier to manage. There will not be an ocean waiting to pour into Thedas.”  
“It will mean your death,” said Solas.  
“It will mean my death anyway, fanor. At least this way, it may do some good.”  
It was unhinged. Desperate. “It took three years for the anchor to become unstable, and even then, it was not powerful enough to wipe out the numbers that you would need to,” he reminded her gently.  
She raised her hand to her cloak, but hesitated. “It was only my arm last time. And things seem to have— accelerated.”  
He felt a crackling ball of dread settle into his chest as she unwound the cloak.  
Abelas gasped. “Mythal lanaste!” he cried. Solas stumbled back in shock, knocking over a pile of books with a crash that went unheeded. Half of her face glowed with emerald veins. Like a statue crumbled and then pieced painstakingly back together. They branched up her neck and over her chin, lined her lips, stretching in delicate webs over the skin of her cheeks. It ended just below her eye and one jagged line straggled over the boundary of her nose, already reaching for the far side of her face. How had it not reached her heart? How was she standing there?  
“But— it shouldn’t have been this fast,” protested Solas. “I thought— a year at least.” He took a step toward her and Abelas shook free of his bewilderment, realizing there was more happening than her plan.  
“I see,” he said flatly. The Inquisitor ignored him, watching Solas. “I have— much to think on, lethallan. Have you— is there some document I can— I’m afraid I’m twelve paces behind you.”

She tore her gaze from Solas and turned to him. “Yes. In my pack. It is at the eluvian. Your lookouts would not let me pass for fear I had brought a weapon with me. They should have kept me and sent you the pack instead.” She smiled, but it was sad. “All my notes are there. If you wish, Dorian has a more expansive copy.”  
He gave her a shaky half-bow. “Thank you.” He seemed to recover himself, at least a little. “I cannot promise to agree to this,” he warned her, “but it is— unjust of me to dismiss it out of hand. Give me some time to consider.”  
“Of course,” she said.

Abelas was gone long before Solas realized they were alone and he was still staring at the spidery lines of light in her skin. She’d begun to rewrap the cloak around herself, trying to cover it.  
“Don’t,” he said suddenly, his hip slamming the table in his haste to reach her. He tugged the cloak. “Don’t, please. I have longed to see your face for so long.”  
She laughed softly, but her hand remained on the cloak. “I am afraid it is a disappointment then. I was never a beauty, but Sera says I could compete with Corypheus’s face now.”  
“Sera is a blind fool,” he said, releasing the cloak to trace the glow on her lips. She waited patiently and when his hand drew away, she returned to rearranging the cloak.  
“I cannot return to the eluvian this way,” she said, noting his confusion. “I don’t want others to see.”  
“Return? You mean to go?” He pulled the cloak away again. “Stay.”  
“But the mark could—”  
He pressed his hand to her cheek and pulled the flare of the anchor down, back into his own flesh. “I won’t let it become unstable. Stay. I have had no word, no sign from you in months. I began to fear you were…” he let it fade out. “Turnabout is fair play, I suppose,” he admitted. She released the cloak to touch him.  
“I wouldn’t do that. I did not intend to worry you. I had to go far into the titan to get the answers we needed. There was a great deal of red lyrium. I had to use Iron Bull’s elixir. I have not been able to dream for some time. Nor send word. Ir abelas, emma lath.”  
“Stay then. Here, with me.”

She drew back slowly. “You still wish me to? Even like this? Mangled and ugly and bearing news that may drive a wedge between us? You still care for me?”  
“Still? Oh, Vhenan, I have barely begun. I will love you long after we are both dust.” He let his fingers glide over her jaw, her ear, through her hair. She was so much softer than he remembered. So much warmer without the rigid metal gauntlet in his way. “And you are more beautiful to me than you have ever been. It is only fear that held my tongue. I thought I had given you more time.”  
“You _did_.”  
“Not enough— I— _stay_. I have kept my sanity by a thread these past years, but I fear it will be lost in earnest if I must part from you again. You have found another way, you have accomplished your goal, anything you need, I will procure. Here. If it is only my affection you doubt I can pro—”  
She kissed him, her hand pressed hard to the nape of his neck. His arms had just found her waist when it happened again. Her wounded arm rose to respond and she broke away in horror and grief as she realized it could not reach him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to brush you with—”

 _Don’t push me away_ , he willed her. “Is it painful?” he asked, pulling the cloak from her shoulder and then the simple shirt beneath to look. The glow of the mark was overwhelming.  
“No, not painful. Just— it bothers some. I didn’t want— I’m a _ruin_ , Solas. You cannot truly want me here, not this way.”  
She would not listen to praise, not yet. He kissed her again, instead. “Is that what troubles you? We have weathered many storms and battles together. I am a ruin too, my love. Let us lean against one another once more. _Stay._ ” He held her wounded arm to show her what his words could not. What he had failed to do in dreams. “Ar lath ma.”  
She managed a weak smile. “Again,” she said.  
“Today and tomorrow and every day after,” he answered.  
“I yield.” She met his kiss and didn’t flinch when he gently squeezed her arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, not the end


	100. A Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNwkN9vrUYY&index=78&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5

She’d long ago drifted into sleep beside the fire, her eyes fluttering slowly closed, her words trailing into silence halfway through telling him more of her plan. She leaned against him solid and warm. Her slow breath was a thread of relief woven in to the green terror that shattered the side of her face, her neck, glowed through the thin muslin sleeve of her shirt. He sat for a long while, well into the deep chill of the night trying not to think of what she’d proposed. Of what Cole had said of this world. He wanted to follow her down, slip into the Fade with her and drive the lyrium echoes from her dreams. But the decision, and Abelas, would not wait much longer. He deepened her sleep with a gentle spell and rekindled the dying fire before slipping away. 

Abelas was still reading in his quarters, though it was reaching midnight and he would begin training again in a few short hours. The Inquisitor’s journals were scattered around him. Solas watched as he put down the one in his hand to flip a few pages in another. He was so absorbed, he hadn’t even noticed Solas’s presence. “Is it viable, this plan? Or is it simply— desperation?” Solas asked quietly.

Abelas startled and looked up. “I fear it may be both,” he said. “It is madness, that’s certain. To willingly wake them and beg their cooperation. But—” he picked up one of the slim books and handed it to Solas. “I believe it will be even more effective than she said. I am no student of magic, but even I can see the result from this. And they haven’t yet calculated the power of the anchor after the Veil falls. It will be exponentially more powerful— and unstable than it was before you removed her arm.” He fell silent as Solas stared at the arcane formulas on the page. A tangle of her quick, cramped hand and Dorian’s precise, even script. She’d told him, then. It was a relief. He sat in the chair beside Abelas, flipping to the next page. He was right. They couldn’t know the effect that dissolving the Veil would have, but Solas and Abelas both did. If Dorian’s equations were correct and the Inquisitor’s conclusions— the explosion would be enormous. Miles of the Deep Roads would collapse from the concussion— perhaps the entirety of the Titan’s corpse. It would likely destroy even surface cities. Arlathan certainly. But what it could save— Abelas’s hand at his elbow disrupted the thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “The Inquisitor must fall before the Veil does. You cannot leave her here without something to control the anchor’s spread.”  
“What?” cried Solas, the book dropping to the table. His hands erupted in silver flame. But Abelas didn’t flinch.  
“You cannot truly mean to attempt this plan. The anchor will destroy her whether she is in the Deep Roads or standing beside our army. We cannot risk it.” His expression softened still further. “It is kinder, Solas. You saw how she suffered just months ago— this will be so much worse. Burned alive from the inside out. It is needless suffering. She does not deserve such a fate.”  
The flames retreated, sinking beneath the skin of his palms. “Why shouldn’t we attempt this? You’ve seen the research for yourself— it is sound.”  
Abelas shook his head. “ _She_ may be willing to try, but Mythal is gone. You know better than any, there is no other Evanuris who will sacrifice themselves to save us.”  
Solas closed the journal before him. Smoothed the binding with a finger. Took a breath. “There is one,” he said.  
“Who? Elgar’nan? He’ll immolate her before she even gets close enough to ask. Dirthamen? He’ll suck the power from her and toss her aside as an empty husk. Perhaps you have been sleeping too long. You’ve forgotten how cruel they are. How selfish. Who among them do you truly think she can persuade?”  
“Me.”

Abelas rocked back in his chair. It took him a long moment to gather his thoughts. “But you are meant to undo it all— make certain _none_ of this ever happens. I am as saddened as the Inquisitor that we cannot mend this existence, but to abandon your duty for it— this world is _doomed_ , Solas. Whether it ends in Blight or a war with the Evanuris or our people simply fall to the Shemlen world that cannot accept magic— it _will_ end. But you have a chance to stop it, to change the outcome—”  
“So do you, if you will accept it,” he interrupted. “The spell is ready. It has only to be activated. It does not have to be me who returns.”  
“I am no Evanuris— I cannot stop them.”  
Solas smiled slightly. “Neither could I. It isn’t force that will change what happened. You told me yourself, Anaris is the heart of it all. Where things began to go awry. You saw the events with your own eyes. I have only heard about them from you. If you could sway Elgar’nan to accept him—”  
Abelas barked a laugh.  
“Andruil then. Convince her to leave Elvhenan. To go with Anaris into the dwarven kingdoms. There was no one near her, then, to tell her how powerful her need for him would become. Mythal was already distanced from Elgar’nan and Falon’din thought only of himself. She had no friend, no equal who understood what losing a mate would do.”  
“Love conquers all?” asked Abelas.  
“If that were true, we would not be here now. But hate and sorrow and rage— they might, if they remain uncountered.”  
“I will likely die for approaching her.”  
“We will all likely die.”

Abelas shook his head. “I’m marked as her mother’s—”  
“I can remove them, if it is something you wish.”  
Abelas ran his fingers over his forehead. “She was my entire purpose,” he said sadly.  
“She still would be, if you wished. You never needed the bindings to keep you loyal, Sentinel.”  
“And if I fail?”  
Solas shrugged. “Then we will meet again in a few thousand years.”  
“You would really alter everything for her?”  
He thought for a moment. “If there were no other reason to alter— I don’t know. But this is the right course. What happened in this world, its fate— I’ve had a hand in it. I thought going back would amend my mistakes, make it as though they had never occurred. I see now, it is not true. The error exists. It is indelible, even if I am the only one who would remember. I have been running since I demanded my freedom, Abelas. Trying to evade the Evanuris, the Blight, our fall. If I ran again, if I prevented my mistake in that other world— it would never be mine. I would only carry the shades of this world with me. But _you_ — you have earned your justice. And your reunions. Mythal restored, the friends we have both lost, your mate, all returned to you. As they always should have been.”  
“But without Andruil, you never would have ascended. You’d never have led a rebellion, our people would remain enslaved. There will be no Fen’harel.”  
Solas laughed. “I always would have rebelled. I know myself well enough to admit that. There will be a Fen’harel. He will just have a different face. And I hope that younger self is not too foolhardy to follow you, for he would be missing the best commander.”

Abelas relaxed into a soft smile, his gaze far away. “It has been eight hundred years since I last kissed my love,” he said. “The thought of touching that face again—”  
“Something worth altering everything for,” said Solas.  
The smile faltered and Abelas returned to the present. “But our people here— they have a war ahead, unlike any they have seen. Who will lead them?”  
“You have trained them well. Your generals are as prepared as you. And it seems we have unexpected allies. Do not fear the Evanuris. I have not exhausted my abilities yet. I will tip the balance as much as I can. And they, too, are infected now. They will be drawn by the Calling, just as the darkspawn and the Wardens.”  
He could see the doubt plainly on Abelas’s face. The struggle between honor and desire. “If you fell beside them, it would not change the outcome,” he said gently. “I’m asking you to _help_ me. I’m asking you to have hope.”

Abelas touched his forehead again. “I was meant to safeguard them. The temple, the teachings, her people. It’s a betrayal to throw it all aside.”  
“Throw what aside? The temple is breached, the Well of Sorrows is gone, though you defended it to the last. Mythal’s teachings, the work of your priests, you carry them as faithfully as the Well ever did. What a gift to them, their own words centuries before they will speak them. How much more will they discover, how much more good will they do, having it to guide them? And Mythal herself— she is gone, Abelas. Neither you nor I will ever see her in this world again. But you have a chance to prevent her slaying. You have a chance to guard her as you once did. She asked me, too, to protect her people. I don’t know how far my own power will aid them. But one— her most faithful, one I can save. And return to her. The markings you fear to remove? They are far easier to replace. And will be far more meaningful should you choose to bear them as a free man. Where is the betrayal?”  
He pushed the hood of his robe back, exposing the entirety of his face. “Take them then, before my courage fails me.”

A low, gentle landscape of ruddy coals was all that remained of the fire when Solas returned. He bent to the pile of furs, intending to check on the Inquisitor, but she was not there. He placed her pack down beside the hearth and pulled a handful of veilfire into his palm. The entry had been vacant, it left only the crown of the eidolon.   
The wind through Elgar’nan’s gaping eyesockets was frigid and the only light came from the Inquisitor’s skin and the veilfire in his hand. He let it gutter out. She had bathed, the thin shirt still slightly clinging to her back and the gleam of the anchor shone brightly through it. A tree of light branching through her veins, over her shoulder blade, climbing the ladder of her spine. How had it missed her heart? 

“I thought it would be— larger somehow,” she said suddenly, though she’d not turned to see him. Her voice was flat. Dry. As if she’d worn out all the grief in it. “More powerful. Ugly. This thing that will tear you from me.”  
He walked toward her, reluctantly shifted his gaze to the amulet she was staring at. “It has not been activated. Most of the spell is dormant. Though— it will not be so different from the one that took you and Dorian forward. Just a difference of degree.” Loranil had left a cloak behind, draped across the stone chair beside them. Solas picked it up and pulled it over them both. “And it will not take me from you.”  
She turned from the amulet to look at him. “What?”  
“You need a willing Evanuris. You have one. Though— I admit I have never had a desire to inhabit a dragon before. I must be certain that we are far from Iron Bull, I think the temptation would prove too great for him.” He smiled, but her face was still a mask of shock.  
“Emma lath,” she said slowly, “Do not jest about this. I have never dreaded anything more than the day you are gone. Not even facing Corypheus.”

His hand found hers, still warm and damp. “I would not jest. I told you that I would stay, if a way could be found. And you have found it.”  
“But— your world, this, all we have done—” She grew distressed, trying to raise her missing hand to the amulet. He pulled the cloak tighter as it began to slide from her shoulder.  
“I do not mean to abandon the chance to change this. The pieces are in place. You asked me once to send another. I did not think it a possibility then. I believed this was the price. That it was only mine to pay. But you— and Cole— This is my place. This world is in danger because of the choice I made so long ago. If I left, even in an attempt to change it, I’d be no better than the people I locked away. When I met you— you know what I foolishly believed then. All we have done, all we have suffered, in the beginning, I thought it was to get us here, to create this.” He touched the amulet. It was smooth and icy under his fingers. A dead thing. “All to undo my mistake. I don’t know when I stopped wanting to undo it. I suspect it was that night in the rotunda. When you told me your story of Mythal and Elgar’nan. Or perhaps the night you came back from Redcliffe. Or the morning I met you. I have lost much in the years since this place thrived. And yet— I do not wish to go back. My family, my friends, my people are gone. And if I changed the story— they would not be the people that I remember, as you have often told me. All that I love is here. But it made no difference what _I_ wished. The course was set and so very narrow. I asked Mythal to send another in my stead. Still, I didn’t recognize when she had. Abelas is right, there is no other Evanuris who would aid you. But the amulet need not be used by me— you and Dorian proved that much, long ago. He will return to the world he lost, the one he has spent millennia mourning. And I will remain to face the Blight at your side.”

The muscle in her jaw pulsed, the green light of the mark flickering as her skin shifted. “And Abelas? What does he say about this? Have you asked?”  
“I have. This is a significant shift in all of our plans. I did not wish to cause you more sorrow if he refused.”  
She nodded and blinked away a sudden tear. “I can’t guarantee that this will work,” she admitted. “Dorian and I went over the calculations several—”  
“That doesn’t alter my decision. And you seem to have a talent for the impossible, my love.”  
Her hand tightened around his. “Even you will not survive this, Solas.”  
“Compared to the alternative— I am not frightened by that.”  
He heard her breath break first, warm and stuttering as she swallowed a sob. “I am,” she said.   
“These bodies may erode,” He traced a thread of emerald across her face, down her neck. “But the spirit within us— even the Blight cannot destroy it. Everything returns, if we are patient. Mythal. Wisdom. You and I. Do you remember what you offered to me, after Adamant? After we’d walked the Fade together?”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” she said, “all my promises are shattered. I have nothing to offer you.”  
He shook his head. “But you’ve kept them all. I will ask you to keep only one more. The one you made then. That you would bring me back to the Fade. Walk its farthest reaches with me.”  
“But— it’s just a story— Falon’din, Dirthamen, the lamplighter. You don’t believe in—”  
“There is truth in every story, Vhenan. Our work is nearly done. When the Veil falls, the Fade will be as easy to enter as a warm pool. But the living see the shallows only. We came from the depths, just as Mythal and the sun in your tale. I wish to see what we were, what we always have been. Though— not alone. Let me return with you. Tel’vara u’em.”  
Her hand deserted him only to reach up to pull him closer. It was warm over the back of his neck, interrupted only by the chilled band of the casting ring she still wore. “Who am I to refuse you?” she asked. She was weeping freely and he began to doubt himself.  
“The only person who truly has the power to,” he answered. “I thought— I _hoped_ this would bring you as much comfort as it brings me. You asked me to stay, once. If your feelings have change—”  
“Eas durlahn, Vhenan. Ar ju’ama ma.”  
Relief made him shaky, disoriented. “Yes,” he said, “Keep me, that is all I ask.”  
Her arm wrapped tightly around his back and the glow of her dimmed as she pulled him closer and the anchor was buried against his shirt. She held him in the waning hour of the night and Elgar’nan’s eyesockets were dark again.


	101. Sea Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoQy_p3vNb8&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=74
> 
> second half somewhat nsfw-ish so you can skip if that's not your thing. (and if it is, again, I'm not an erotica wizard, sorry). sorry about the lag in updates. The story is winding toward its end and I'm regretting that, so struggling just a bit. Don't worry, I will finish it.

Her eyes were the first image that met him on waking. He smiled, reached for her and she cringed slightly as his hand met her arm where it ended, drifted away into empty sleeve. He knew it did not hurt, not the flesh, anyway. She slid away, sitting up from the furs.   
“Stay,” he said, touching her knee. “The weather is foul. There will be no agents today. Nothing to call us away.” He held up one of the furs for her. “Come.”  
“I need to reinforce the wards,” she said. “Just— give me a few moments.”  
He sat up. “What wards?”  
She waved vaguely at her chest. “The wards that keep the mark from spreading.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “They aren’t terribly effective. But without them…” she trailed off.  
“You’re using wards inside yourself?”  
She shrugged. “It seemed— prudent. Vivienne examined the mark soon after it returned. She warned me it would become a problem when it reached my heart. I tried pushing it back at first, but nothing I did seemed to make much difference. I knew something must slow it— _you_ had, and that was before your power returned. The barrier seems to work, at least for a while. But the mana needed to maintain it is increasing. Even as it slowly shrinks. It is how I knew there was not time to keep looking for a better solution.”  
“May I see?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the lacings of her shirt. He rose to his knees, cradled her face. “You still believe I would turn from you? That I could ever see you as less than beautiful?”  
“It is much worse beneath the collar,” she answered. “I am not as you remember.”   
He drew a long kiss from her. She leaned into him, the lingering warmth of recent sleep still radiating from her. He moved at last to the edge of her jaw and then her neck. “No. You are infinitely dearer than I remember. How could I have forgotten that? I thought I had missed you, but I didn’t know how much,” he whispered.  
She swallowed hard and he felt her throat ripple under his lips. _Don’t grieve_ , he willed her. His fingers traced the edge of the collar, smooth skin and rough muslin. She let her hand drop from the lacings.  
“I am as bewitched by you as ever I was.” His own fingers took the place of hers, unthreading the rawhide lace loop by loop. “The anchor changes nothing.”

“I saw your face,” she said. “I saw you recoil when you caught sight of the mark.”  
The pain in her voice slashed at him. She turned her face from him, bright with shame. He pulled her back. “That was not disgust or contempt. I was— shocked. Not because of how you appeared, but because I know it means you are running out of time. Because I have forced my own type of vallaslin on you, one that you did not ask for and that I cannot remove, though I wish to. You are everything I crave.”  
She held herself stiffly, still doubting him. Herself.   
“Let me show you,” he said, his palm filling with veilfire between them. Simple, immediate. He had no need to reach for a memory, it was only a mirror. The way she was in the moment. Enduring and lovely, the broken places gilded with light. Tinged with all his knowledge of her kindness and her passion. “See yourself as I do,” he said, pouring it, like water, into her hand. He waited as the veilfire sank into her skin.   
“But it’s not— _real_ —” she protested.  
“Isn’t it? It is to me.” He paused, brushed the edge of her ear. “But you’re right. That is not how I usually picture you. It’s the memory of you laughing and happy that haunts me most often. It is the only alteration I wish for. If only I had the power to make it so.”  
“You _do_ ,” she insisted, as he’d known she would, “you _have_.” It was some part of her restored, that small protest pulled forth only to comfort him. He missed her fire, her confidence. If they could only move past this… 

He tried again. “I have no wish to push you, I will leave while you reset your wards, if you wish— but I’d rather see if there is something to be done to help. Perhaps I can replace them and give you a chance to recover your magic.”  
She shook her head, but pulled the fabric from her shoulder. “It’s your magic the wards keep at bay. I don’t think your spells would work.”  
Almost none of her shoulder was unmarked, the smooth skin mottled with the sickly green. “If I cannot add to the wards, perhaps I can at least pull the infection back—” He pushed her shirt farther down, holding her shoulder, letting the anchor’s power flood back into him. It had grown more than he’d expected in the few hours since he had last tried this method. It was no longer a creeping spread as it had been during the Inquisition. He tried to press aside the panic, following the tendrils of the anchor as they untwined and dwindled across her shoulder and approached her chest. He helped her remove the shirt and she instinctively covered the remains of her arm with her other hand. “There is no need to hide it, emma lath,” he said and kissed the corner of her mouth, but made no move to force her hand away, instead focusing on the center of her chest. He could feel her magic now, tight and buzzing under his fingertips, making a clearing in the tangled forest of the anchor that surrounded it. 

“Remarkable. I would not have thought of this adaptation.”  
“You did. In a way,” she said. He looked up. “Skyhold has the same sort of spells. Iron Bull and I studied them after he knew who you really were. He seemed quite entranced by the idea of you leading a revolution.” She smiled. “He said the spells were likely laid to diminish the power of any Evanuris trying to enter the fortress— including yours. He thought it made sense, if you were trying to shield refugees. You would know the limits of the wards, but any invaders would not. He and Cullen suspected it was similar to something templars do. It took some time, but I found a way to replicate the wards— just smaller. Not _this_ small.” She frowned tracing the edge of the clear space above her breast band. “It isn’t enough. And it bursts forward every time I must place the wards.”  
“That, at least, I can slow,” he said. “It should be at a nadir now, at least for a time.”   
She nodded and closed her eyes. He felt the power beneath her skin unravel, release as she let the ward fall. A deep breath and then a subtle twitch of her fingers. Her spell welled, pushed out, a solid wall against him. This was why he had not felt the tug of her magic in months, it was all concentrated here, keeping the anchor from crushing her. Indeed, she appeared depleted as the spell completed. She reached for her pack, as if it were habit, this exhaustion, and pulled a pale blue lyrium potion from it. He held up a hand to stop her.

“I can—”  
She shook her head. “You can’t. Not any longer. Any power you shared with me would only add to the anchor. This is how it must be, for now. Don’t fret. I don’t think I need worry about the long term affects of lyrium addiction.” She shuddered as she swallowed the bitter liquid. She pushed the empty vial into the pack and he heard the clink of others and immediately wondered whether they were empty or full.  
“I will find more,” he said, half rising. She caught his hand.  
“I have enough for now. And I thought you said the weather was bad. Don’t go. Unless—” she drew back, letting him go to pick up her shirt. He sank down again beside her.  
“There is no ‘unless’, nowhere I would rather be.” 

She hovered over him, the morning light a halo around her, mixed with the emerald of the anchor. A deep sea light, his own spirit of mercy risen from the abyss. “When all seemed hopeless and lost,” he murmured, “she climbed out from the depths of the vast ocean and came to him as he sat in the icy dark.”  
She smiled. “I thought you hated Dalish legends.”  
“There is one that I love.” He reached up to loosen her braid.   
“Oh? Which one is that?”  
“It is not yet written. Though I hear Varric has made an early attempt.”  
She laughed and shook her head. “That was terrible,” she said. He pulled her down to him, brushed a finger over the curve of her lips.   
“But it worked. I have not heard you truly laugh in a lifetime.” _I feared I never would again_ , he thought, but could not bring himself to speak it aloud. “I would do anything to help you repeat it. No matter how foolish.”

She watched him for a moment, the smile drifting slowly away from her. Then she shifted toward him, reached for him, but again it was the wrong arm. He pretended to ignore it and she let it pass without sorrow and kissed him. Careful, precise, still terrified of getting it wrong. As if he’d push her away otherwise. As if they were dreaming of Haven and he hadn’t told her everything, hadn’t exposed every one of his most fragile points to her. She retreated and he followed, catching her mouth again, an answer to the same old question she’d been wordlessly asking for years. “Vin. Ar lath ma. Bellanaris,” he said against her lips.  
“So long? I would be happy only to have the next few months.”  
“Elvarel.”   
She pressed her hand to his cheek. “You promise too much,” she said.  
“No more than I am certain I can keep.”   
“I am not the same woman as the one on the balcony. Perhaps not even the same one you left in the crossroads—” 

He trailed his fingers across her bare stomach and kissed the corner of her jaw. She sucked in a sharp breath and he laughed softly. “ _That_ is the same.” He breathed warmth onto the slope of her neck. “And your determination is the same.” Her breast band loosened under his hand. She abandoned the argument and doubt. Her own hand found the edge of his shirt, pulling it slowly up his back. “You are as kind and generous as ever you were— I have many eyes outside of Arlathan. I know my Vhenan well.” He risked a kiss to her marked shoulder, just at the edge, where it would make her curl into him. He smiled as she responded without hesitation. “Any change has only been to make you sweeter.” She allowed a soft slide of his hand down her arm, stiffening only slightly as he reached the abrupt end and glided back up. He was too pleased at her reaction, waited a fraction of a second too long, and the frustration and sorrow hit her again. This time when she could not fully remove his shirt.   
“I’m sorry,” she said, letting go of the fabric. “I have only relearned myself— I’ve had no reason to learn this again.”  
“Shh, emma lath, it is no hardship.” He pulled it off himself, but she still appeared subdued, uneasy. “But I happily volunteer myself, should you need to practice disrobing,” he said. 

She blushed, but the smile returned. Still, she did not touch him. He wondered if he ought to stop, if it were too much. Or if it would convince her that he did not want her if he _did_ halt, if it would drive her farther from him. He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to it. “I don’t know how to ease this,” he admitted. “I want you, however you will have me— clumsy or practiced, now or a thousand days from now,” he let a soft laugh escape from him. “Now _and_ a thousand days from now and every one between. But I don’t know what _you_ wish. I can wait—”  
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to wait. I have waited enough. The world— has not been gentle. Nobody wants a maimed warrior saint who has outlived her usefulness. They wanted me to be— perfect. Invulnerable. Or else to disappear so the stories and the statues could replace me. I am— not used to being more than an inconvenience these days.”

_Good, this is good. Familiar. A little burst of fire,_ he thought.

“I am not the world. Do not fear me turning from you.” He smoothed her temple with his thumb. “I know what you would say. I know. But our parting was not because of you. It will _never_ be because of you. I see you, just as I always have. I do not adore the warrior saint, but the woman. And I already destroyed the statue,” he added with a smile. The surprise in her face was a delight. “I have learned much from you. Above all, to leave myths to the world when it brings them comfort. Let them have that part of you. I am jealous of the rest. Disappear with me. I’ve shown you the worst parts of me, and still you persist in loving me. Let me prove I am worthy of it. Let me love you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He held his breath, not even certain if he expected an answer. She lifted her fingers to his chest let them skate over his skin leaving small trails of warmth where they had passed. And then the gentle burn of her mouth in their wake. Her laugh was humid breath against him as he shivered. “I was afraid I had forgotten how—” She shifted, her breath traveling in silky bursts against his throat, his chin— She caught his earlobe between her teeth.  
“Oh!” he cried threaded his fingers into her hair, making her linger in that spot. She released him to laugh again, the vibrations soft and full of promise in his ear.   
“Whatever else may have changed,” she said, “The landscape has not. I win.”   
“You are too hasty, my love.” He pressed her back, careful not to pin her arm. “I have not yet had a turn.” He raised a hand, intending to relight the fire, and she stiffened, feeling the spell quicken in him.  
“No magic, Solas,” she cried, shielding the center of her chest with her hand. “There is so little time already—”  
“No, no. I would not. I won’t do anything to cause it to grow if I can avoid it.” He bent to press a kiss to the bare spot between her breasts. A sweet, heavy scent lingered in her clothes and now clung to her skin. He inhaled deeply. “Dawn lotus,” he said, “You smell of long dreams and memory.”  
“It is only Skyhold,” she said, her skin blushing in a slow spreading sunset to where he was touching her.   
“No. It is not.” His lips brushed over her breast and he felt a sudden pinch as her hand clutched his shoulder. “Ra ane ma. Telir ma. Emma manen venuralas.”  
“That is not fa—” she broke off when he drifted to her stomach. A laugh bubbled in his throat.  
“I said nothing of rules.” 

The anchor’s claw dwindled near her hip, a few stray spindling threads slipping below the hem of her leggings. He had a flash of worry that it would slip into her gut, attack some more vulnerable organ she had not protected, but it vanished as she twisted, pushing him off. He landed with a thud on his back. She pinned him beneath her. The anchor was spring sunlight through trees. “What is this?” he asked, laughing.  
“Rebellion. Revolution.” She muttered something else. It was lost in the skin of his shoulder. Her hand twisted between them, trying to reach for his leggings, but she lost her balance and he caught her. She looked up at him. “It is fortunate we have all day,” she said, exasperated.   
“Indeed.” He glanced down at her hand. “Shall I help?”  
“Unless you wish me to use my teeth.”  
He was tempted to tease, but didn’t trust his luck to hold. She was smiling, happy. Here. “Next time,” he said. She released him just long enough to let him finish undressing them both, but did not let him turn them. He was content not to try. 

“I don’t— I can’t touch you the way I wish. I can at least— let me do this,” she said, as if he’d refused. She was concentrating too hard. Focusing too much. Too worried. He half-rose to kiss her.   
“Ea elvyr, Vhenan. There is no wrong way to do this. All is well.”  
Her arm circled his back. “Like this then,” she said. “Close. But still— let me be— powerful.”  
“Yes. Good. Perf—” he gasped when she sank down into his lap.   
“Did I hurt you?” she asked. He shook his head, pulled her into a kiss. She shifted and he cried out, grabbing her hips. “Let go,” she urged him gently. “Let me do this.”   
He loosened his hands, let one travel up her side, caress her marked shoulder, cup the back of her neck, her hair beginning to dampen with sweat as she moved. “This is the part where you disappear,” she said.  
“Disappear? Why—” she rippled around him and he broke off for a moment, breathing into her shoulder. “Why would I disappear?” he asked when he’d recovered.  
“I don’t know, but you always—” she sighed when his hand found her breast. “You always did. Every dream—”  
“You never dreamed of this.”  
“I should have. I might have been able to persuade you to stay.”

He pulled her to a stop, a heavy hand on her hip. “I didn’t want to go, Vhenan. Not even in dreams. It was—” he hesitated. It would not help her to tell her the truth. “—it was not by choice. But _this_ is. There will be no more parting unless you wish it.”  
She pressed her forehead to his. “Never. Never.” She moved again, and she pressed a fierce kiss into him, her fingers biting into the flesh of his back. Their breath made a rolling, roaring surf. He lost track of the sun, of the chill air, of the words that spilled from her, from him.   
“Solas, the anchor—” she cried. He was almost too late. The anchor surged as she did, flooded into him, dizzying and intoxicating, sweeping him away with it.   
The furs slid soft across his back as he sank down. The ragged, uneven swell of her against his chest was all he could concentrate on for a time. She lifted herself away and he moved to catch her, dismayed by the empty lightness she left behind.

“This is no dream,” he told her. Crept closer to her. “You will not wake. I will be at your side at the very end. Shall I make you an oath?” He unwound her hand from his neck, twisted the casting ring he’d sent to her. “Tell me how it is done. I have not seen a Dalish bonding in half an age.”  
She laughed but it was half-sob. “You have terrible timing, Solas. I have no brideprice to offer. And no clan to accept you.”  
He twisted his head to look at her. “Would you be happy?”  
“I am content with your word. I have no wish to wring an oath from you.”  
“But— are you _happy_?”  
“Are you?” she asked. “Here, at the end of the world?”  
He was startled to realize that he truly was. He pressed her hand to his chest. “Can you not feel it? I have never been happier, Vhenan.”  
She smiled. “I have no vhenadahl to shower you with blossoms. No cider or honey cakes to feed you. No music to give me an excuse to touch you.”  
“You do not need an excuse. And I have not starved yet.” He curled over her. “And you _are_ my vhenadahl, the tree that springs from my heart.” He touched the branching glow on her face.  
“That was terrible,” she said.  
“Did it work?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to the jagged line that crossed her nose. “Are you happy? Here, with me at the end of the world?”  
“ _Yes_ ,” she said, “I am happy with you, whatever may come.”


	102. A Change of Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxpmGaLv6j0&index=85&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&t=0s

The day was harder than he’d imagined it would be. He hadn’t expected ease, knowing he must upset many, many plans, perhaps disappoint his people. There was little he could have done to make it better. Not really. The generals had to know that he was staying and Abelas would no longer lead them in battle. The Inquisitor had to risk showing them the extent of the mark to convince them of her plan, though he hated watching her shrink from the shocked stares that the others met her with. And Dorian— well, he knew he had deserved that from Dorian. Worse, most likely. And it was nothing he hadn’t already repeated to himself, tenfold. If only he could have spared all three of them that grief. No, it would have been worse without the chance to say goodbye. It had happened as it was always meant to happen. 

She had started the morning lingering over the maps of the Deep Roads— some pieced together from Orzammar’s records, some from the Legion of the Dead and the Wardens who fought with them, some she’d drawn with her own hand, somewhere in her travels. They still glittered with lyrium dust. He had beaten back panic when she’d first unrolled them that morning, seeing the complicated web of roads in her own writing, how far she’d gone alone into the darkspawn-infested heart of Thedas. He’d stood beside her, trying to listen as she told him the most likely route and pointed to the spots rumored to hold dragon nests. He’d watched, instead, the slim line of the anchor that had reached over the bridge of her nose. It had split and branched overnight as they slept. He tried to persuade himself the new threads were smaller than he imagined. He had succeeded for a few hours, until they’d spoken to Dorian. 

“The only true mystery remaining is where the darkspawn are thickest,” she said. “The Legion’s been trying to scout, but they went deep after the last blight. I fear we only see the edge of their territory.” She looked up from the map at him. “I thought, at first, that it would be like a— a bruise or a frost. The densest part of the horde ought to be at the point of the original infection— which would be…” she trailed off. “You showed me Andruil’s temple once—”  
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “The infection would have begun beneath us. In the titan’s corpse.”   
“It’s been centuries. I’m sure it’s shifted. Safe."  
“Is _that_ what troubles you? No. It is not safe here. Did you return to Skyhold since you left your clan?”  
“No— I had ancient stories to chase. And I had little time to waste resting.”  
“The people who remain here know the danger that is coming. Their families have gone to Skyhold. With Sera. And some friends. _They_ are safe. The rest of us are— ready.”  
“Are you?” she asked. The muscle in her jaw pulsed as she gritted her teeth. “I’m not certain that I am.” She took a long breath and seemed to shake the feeling. “I’m glad you’ve sent those who aren’t able to fight to Skyhold. In case— in case I’m wrong.” 

She turned back to the map before he could tell her that it didn’t matter. That they lost nothing by trying her method. That she shouldn’t carry the weight of this decision, that he already carried it himself. Had for longer than she’d been breathing. “I should replace the wards,” she said, sweeping up the maps into a neat pile.  
“Let me stabilize the anchor, then, before I go.” He reached for her shoulder, then noticed the flicker of panic in her face.  
“Go?” she asked.  
“Not far, Vhenan.” He pulled power from the anchor, watched the immediate relief flood her. From his words? Or because the anchor wasn’t pressing as hard against her? He wasn’t certain he wanted to know. “I need to inform my— our people of what we have decided. They are expecting Abelas to lead them against the Evanuris. It will be a great shock to learn that he will not. But— they are also expecting to die. And your plan can give them some hope of survival that I could not. I will return before evening.”  
She shook her head. “They won’t believe you. Not if you’ve told them everything.”  
He traced the veins of light along her cheek. “I am not what I was when I woke. And these people are not isolated tribes I am trying to bring the truth to. They will believe me.”  
“ _You_ didn’t believe it,” she protested. “Not until you saw my face. Not until you read the notes.”  
“Forgive me. It was not you I doubted. It was only— I had given up. On another way, on seeing you again. And you appeared out of the dark and offered me this chance. If the price were not such a terrible one—” He found her hand and grasped it. “It is all that convinces me it is not a good dream.”  
“They will think you are fooling yourself. Or that I have tricked you into betraying them.”

He wanted to deny it. But even Abelas had doubted him these past years. Had thought him on the verge of madness or weakness because of her. He could not have been the only one. Just the only one with courage enough to speak it aloud.   
“Let me come with you. Let me show them the mark. In an hour, perhaps two, it will have grown in strength again. Not as powerful as it was when I last saw you, but strong enough. Take me to an empty place. I’ll drop the wards. Let them see the destruction it can cause, just this trickle of power.”  
He was horrified. “No!” he cried, “It would overwhelm you. Leap forward and consume you—”  
“It won’t. Not in so short a time. Not yet.”  
“I can’t. Don’t ask me to risk that for a few doubters—”  
She pressed a hand to his heart. “I _know_ what I am capable of, Solas. I have lived with the mark for a long time now. I know how much I can withstand. You must trust me.”  
He started to protest, but she pressed her fingers to his mouth to stop him.   
“I told you I would come back to you when I found a way. I told you I would bring the world with me to aid you in defeating this. All of us together. Half of my promise is kept. Let me fulfill what I can of the rest.”  
He kissed her hand and lowered it gently. “I don’t think you will need to convince them.”  
“Then why argue? Just yield and we’ll go have a quiet talk with your generals. And I’ll just— watch. Until you need me.”  
“I always need you. It is the anchor I would do without.” He sighed.  
“Is it so terrible, having me at your side?” she asked.   
“No,” he laughed. “It is everything I’ve wanted for years.” His smile faded. “But things will likely become— chaotic.”  
“That is nothing unusual for us,” she said. He touched her face again, his fingers slipping over the warm skin of her jaw.  
“Some will stare. Some have never seen the anchor. And some— some remember the fate of another who bore an Evanuris’s mark. I would spare you that sorrow. They will not see you as I do.”  
She closed her eyes and pressed his hand against her cheek. “No one sees me as you do. I did not have to come to Arlathan to know that.”  
“It is still cold,” he told her. She laughed.  
“That is your objection? Am I one of Vivienne’s expensive plants? Have I never endured cold? Is it truly a concern?”  
He shrugged with a smile. “Not truly. But your objections always come in threes. I thought it best to continue the tradition. You— don’t have to do this.”  
“I know,” she said. She kissed him, held him close a second after. “Never think I am here against my will. There is no compulsion, unless it is love.” 

 

The meeting was as bad as he’d expected, a mix of shock and anger and hope. Abelas did far more to convince them than Solas had expected, anticipating some lingering reluctance.   
“You have prepared well for this battle,” Abelas had said. “When I arrived here, I feared for you. I believed that sending you against the Evanuris was like asking wheat to stand before the sickle. That is no longer my fear. These past few months, I began to worry that you had trained too well. No longer will you buckle before the Evanuris. I think there may be a few among you who might have been numbered among their ranks. Feynriel, Aneirin— you may find your power grown exponentially when the Veil is gone. I have hope that you can match even Falon’din in combat. But—” he sighed. “With hope against our ancient betrayers, a new terror began to grow within me. Even if we survived the Evanuris, the battle would still not be won. For behind them waits the blight.” He spread his arms out to indicate the windy, snow laden plain of Andruil’s blighted land. “This was the work of a few seasons. It has had millennia to grow, checked only by the Veil itself. But I do not need to educate you on its dangers. In this, especially, you are as knowledgeable as any. And there was no way to stem it. I wondered, for a time, if it were kinder to have left you untrained. Unaware. It would be quicker. Instead, I feared, you would linger and suffer. That I would have to turn my magic against you as you succumbed to the blight. Or that you would have to turn your blades upon me. I know this is something Solas has feared for far longer than I. We have a way now, a chance to thwart the darkspawn and the Evanuris with the same blow. But the sacrifice required to achieve it is heavy, indeed.” Abelas’s gaze flickered over him and then back to the crowd of people. “Alas, I cannot stand at your side to make it with you.”

A ripple of unease swept through the people. A few shouts. One man pointed to the Inquisitor. “It’s _her_ isn’t it? All this madness is because of _her_.” Solas’s fingernails bit into his staff, but he remained silent. It needed to be said. And turned aside, defeated, this ugly thing some of them thought. This doubt he sometimes shared about his own decisions.  
“No,” said Abelas sternly, but the Inquisitor took a step toward him, touched his shoulder and he subsided.  
“Yes,” she said. “It is because of me. I should have returned the orb to So— Fen’harel after the battle with Corypheus. With it, perhaps we could have avoided the worst of what’s to come. But…”   
He felt the faintest tug of her magic, a tiny flicker seeking reassurance, all she could muster without dropping the wards. 

“But it did not survive the battle,” she continued. He shut his eyes, a flash of the boulder hanging above them and her voice pleading with him to just take it, to take it and leave her. “Ir abelas. Ar laima.” Her voice cracked and sunk below the harsh wind. Abelas touched her shoulder. Solas longed to see her face, to know if she truly believed the fault were hers, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “I have no claim upon you, no right to ask for your aid. I came to offer you a hope, however small, of altering the outcome. But I cannot do it alone. Only an archdemon can control the blight. To send it forth to infect us all, or to draw it back to the Deep Roads to destroy it. The Forgotten Ones know this. It is _they_ who inhabited the ancient dragons and sent the blight to us. Testing the Veil. But it is not just any mage who can inhabit a dragon. I cannot, though I tried. Even Corypheus could only manage a poor shadow of control. I need— I need an Evanuris. And there is only one remaining that we can trust not to seize the power of the blight without the Veil to rein it in.” Now she did look over to him. “Even Mythal did not guard our people as faithfully as Fen’harel has. Wearing a thousand faces in millions of dreams, he’s watched and aided us every night for centuries. Hearing every curse, every lie that was heaped upon him and did not falter. There is no other I would ask in our darkest battle.”  
He fought the embarrassed heat rising in his skin. He’d told her, once, that posing was necessary. He’d be a fool not to follow his own advice, awkward and undeserving as he felt.

“You want— you want Solas to become an archdemon?” Sevren called from the crowd.  
“I need him to, though there is nothing I want less.”  
“And he agreed to this?”  
“I did,” said Solas, still leaning upon his staff.  
“But— you were meant to undo all this,” cried Feynriel. “Right the world before it goes wrong. Everything we’ve risked was to that end.”  
“And that is why Abelas will go in my stead.”  
“He is no match for the Evanuris! You send him to be slaughtered.”  
“For what?” cried another. “Because you can’t give up this— _shem_? She’s a pawn for the Chantry. A spy you let wander into our home. They sent her to destroy us.”  
“I am no more match for the Evanuris than Abelas. The intent was never to defeat them in war,” said Solas, ignoring the ugly backlash against the Inquisitor, though he knew it must hurt her. “He is as prepared for this as I.” He turned to Abelas. “I have no wish to _send_ you anywhere. If this is not the better plan— if you have only chosen this to please me, speak plainly. I know the word of an Evanuris is worthless, but it is all that I have to give. If you wish to stay, I will take no retribution.”  
Abelas smiled, broad and startling, especially here. “I do not fear you, Solas,” he said. “This is my choice. An opportunity for justice so complete that the crime will never happen. A chance to reunite with those we’ve lost, those I’ve mourned for so many lifetimes. A way to find each of you in that other world and guard you from harm if I can. Do not grieve for me. I will not fail you.”

“I don’t understand,” called a voice from the back. “You want to become an archdemon and then— what? Send the darkspawn against the other Evanuris?”  
“No, lethallin,” said Solas. “The Evanuris are tainted as well. If we do not stop them, they are likely to twist the blight to their own ends and send it against us. I will not be able to turn it against them. But they may heed the Calling, if we act quickly. They will be disoriented after their long slumber. We have a hope that they will be drawn by a recognizable magic.”  
“But to bring them together— we cannot fight the Evanuris and the blight at once. We are less than ten thousand— most of us have never cast a single spell or fought a real battle,” said Sevren.   
“You are not alone,” said the Inquisitor. “The Gray Wardens and the Legion of the Dead stand ready to help us fight the darkspawn and Tevinter is preparing for the return of the Evanuris, though they do not yet know it.”  
“Of course you would bring more Shemlen here. I had heard you were driven from your clan,” sneered a voice deep in the crowd. “Now we know why. You’d betray us all when the moment is most dire. What did they promise you?”  
Solas scanned the crowd, looking for the hateful face among them. But the Inquisitor was calm.  
“Aren’t the Shemlen part of this world, as well as we? Haven’t they as much reason to fight the blight? Why would I turn away aid?”  
“They’ll betray us, just as they did Shartan.”  
“Maybe,” admitted the Inquisitor. “Should we fall instead of risk it? Succumb to the tide of darkspawn and be annihilated rather than allow those who might fight beside us through the gates into a ruined city? Whatever this place was— whoever we _were_ , it will mean nothing if none of us remain. But it is not my decision to make. I only wished to tell you that allies were ready to stand with you, if you choose.” Her words left a long silence in their wake.

“But why do you need Solas?” asked Feynriel at last. “Why an archdemon? If we draw the darkspawn to one spot, they will only overwhelm us faster. Even the Wardens and the Legion and all the magisterium cannot hope to stand against such a horde.”  
“I hope you won’t have to. The anchor is a powerful weapon, but it will not destroy them all, not even gathered as we intend. If I can eliminate enough of them though, perhaps you will have some hope of surviving the remnants.”  
“The anchor? You could not even eliminate a single company of Qunari without Solas’s aid. How do you expect it to wipe out the darkspawn?”  
“I was fighting it then. I didn’t understand how to control it. I have had much practice since then. And it is stronger.”  
“It will be stronger still, when the Veil falls,” said Abelas. “The Inqu— Lavellan has not earned your doubts. If the anchor had not been unstable, she would have stopped the Qunari. I was there. I have seen her fight. And I have seen what the anchor was capable of— even before it spread. After reading her research and knowing the fate of Elgar’nan’s anchor, I have little doubt that should she reach the center of the horde before it erupts, it will tip the balance in our favor.”  
“You will not survive,” said Sevren.  
“No. But I will not survive whether I am deep in the belly of a titan or up here, fighting the Evanuris. At least in the titan, the anchor cannot threaten my friends.”  
“And Solas? Will he survive?”  
She shook her head and he gave in, closing the distance between them, slipping his hand over hers in front of them all. “It’s not such a terrible price,” he said. “The lives of two elves against the whole world.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She smothered a cry, but a few tears escaped her, glittering in the icy sunlight.   
“How long do we have?” asked Feynriel. “Soldiers are not easy to move and the weather hasn’t broken. The Wardens and the Legion may be able to move with more ease, but Tevinter will not. I would like to make the most of our remaining time with the three of you.”  
There were some angry protests that Abelas attempted to quell. Solas glanced at the Inquisitor’s face. He was uncertain how quickly the anchor would continue to spread. They may have to make an attempt before Tevinter arrived or else lose her before the crucial moment. He choked on the idea that her life had diminished now to days. To countable breaths. The Inquisitor recoiled as someone shouted at her, releasing his hand and stepping back. Solas frowned and turned his attention back to his people. He did not like to intervene, even in their anger. It felt too far, too much like an attempt to control them. Too close to what he despised the other Evanuris for. But it was hurting her. And dividing _them_. It helped no one to allow it to continue. He pulled her gently behind him. “Ir abelas,” he muttered.  
“Do not apologize. They _love_ you, Solas. They are only trying to protect you and Abelas,” she said, but stayed in his shadow, her fingers resting light and warm upon his back. The crowd began to get heated, shouts and insults rising above the general tumult. Abelas was trying to calm them, but his face was stony and frustrated. He would soon lose his temper. 

“Enough!” Solas boomed. He hated the terror that crossed some of their faces, the tiny flinch in the Inquisitor’s fingers— even her, who had seen him angry, who fought with him and loved him anyway, even _she_ was not immune to the sudden shift in his manner. He pressed it away, something to soothe later. “I did not call this conference to ask permission. I have chosen to aid the Inquisitor because the plan is sound. And Abelas has chosen to act in my stead when the Veil falls. You are free, as always, to help me or abandon me. But it will not alter my decision. Nor my need to aid you, if I can. It never has before.”


	103. Ave et Valete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwuHyAHZAIA

In the end, he persuaded them to be ready within the fortnight, fearing the anchor’s creep would be terrible even in so short a time. Abelas had taken the Inquisitor with him into the temple some time during the following hour, moved to spare her the glares and slight jabs of the others as Solas settled on a new battle plan. He found them sitting in Andruil’s old feasting hall, empty now except for the large fire pit that was blazing beside them. Abelas was telling her a story about Mythal. Solas watched them for a moment, before they could notice he’d returned. The Inquisitor touched the unmarked side of her face. “Was it— did you _choose_ this, or did he force you?” she asked when he’d finished.   
Abelas frowned slightly. “You had the vallaslin when last we met as well. Did he force you?”  
“No. Never.”  
He nodded. “It was my choice. I do not relish the thought of placing Andruil’s markings in their place, but I cannot disappear into her retinue without them. At least they will not carry the compulsion they once did. They will be like yours— image only, without the spell to give them power. Someday, perhaps, I will be able to wear my old ones again. Or stay this way. I do not know.”  
“I’m sorry,” she offered.  
Abelas shook his head. “I’m not. Though I regret that you and he will stay behind. You have both earned better.” He sighed, threw another small stick into the flames. “We’ve traded places, you and I. You linger to protect what remains, a Sentinel to another god. And I must go to as his Herald to warn another world. Neither is an easy task. But it is the right one, for each of us.”  
“I am no god,” said Solas, startling them.

The Inquisitor smiled. “And I was no warrior saint. But it didn’t matter how I protested, people would see what they wished to.”  
He sat beside her with a sigh.   
“Just a little longer,” she said, touching his knee, “and then the masks won’t matter any longer.”  
He nodded. “Will you be ready in a fortnight?” he asked Abelas.  
“I was ready as soon as I decided. My preparedness should not be among your worries.” Abelas raised a hand to indicate the Inquisitor’s face. “If you find things— progressing faster than anticipated, I will be able to depart at a moment’s notice.”  
“We will activate the amulet here, at the edge of Andruil’s land, where the forest was once thickest. It will make slipping in an easier task for you. And this temple is where our people will make their stand. With Tevinter. Let them work to restore what they have had a hand in looting.”   
“You have more faith in them than I,” said Abelas. “They were— _savage_ when they looted Arlathan. Brutal and ignorant and sly. I fear they will only use our need to harm us further.”  
“Much has changed since then. _We_ have changed,” said the Inquisitor gently.  
Abelas touched her hand. “Not as much as I once believed, lethallan. But perhaps your friend holds more sway over the magisterium than I know.” He shook his head. “It matters little, I suppose. Tevinter forces are necessary. We cannot stand without them.”  
“If I believed that Dorian couldn’t keep them from taking advantage, I would never have told him. Even knowing how dire the situation is.”  
Abelas smiled. “I know. You are the same person who refused to take the Vir’abelasan when your colleague urged you to steal it. Even knowing it might mean the difference in the battle with Corypheus. I am unsure if that quality is wisdom or simply stubbornness. But it has given me great faith in you.”  
“We should send word,” said Solas. “It will take time for them to reach us. I do not wish to open the network to so many if it can be avoided. I would keep it as a route of retreat should the need arise.”  
Abelas nodded. “Do we know where the Wardens and the Legion are? I was told they are mostly itinerant.”  
“The Legion has just returned from the Storm Coast. Varric tells me he received a message from Orzammar that they are nearby and waiting for our signal. They have arranged to travel with those Wardens who have committed to aid us. The others— we may try. Perhaps if they know all, they will put aside the terrible conflict that has ravaged the order these past two years.” She looked doubtful.  
“And Dorian?” asked Solas.  
She touched the small crystal at her throat, the same Dorian had created to help Solas win her back so long before. “A spell away.”  
“Then I will leave you and find a messenger to speed to Orzammar,” said Abelas. He rose and disappeared deeper in the dark temple.

“We should return to the eidolon,” said Solas. “There are no extra ears there.” He helped her up. “Ir abelas. I ought to have left you comfortably there. If I had known the anger this would cause— I don’t know why it was turned upon _you_. You are blameless in this. If I ever led you to believe the orb was—”  
“It is only fear. The same kind that led to Leliana questioning me about you. It will not drive me from you. My name won’t be the first to turn to ash in their mouths.” Her hand brushed his cheek. “They have risked everything for love of you. And now I am here to steal you away. I would be angry, too. I _was_ angry, losing you.”  
He threaded his arms around her. “I was yours first,” he said.  
“Be mine _last_.” Her breath was warm against his ear. “Don’t go again.”

It was late afternoon, the sun gold against the cracked stone of Elgar’nan’s knees when they returned, the weather a brittle, arid cold. Solas hurried to restart the hearths as the Inquisitor unclasped her necklace and set it on the large table beside her pile of maps and notes. A strange, familiar shock struck him as he heard Dorian’s voice behind him.  
“ _There_ you are. I’ve been looking for you for—” he broke off into a sharp gasp. Solas turned, as if expecting him to be there, but there was only the small crystal lying upon the table. “Oh, sorora. You have not been keeping your wards up,” said Dorian, and Solas realized he was seeing her face in the crystal’s image.  
“I have, don’t worry,” answered the Inquisitor.   
“I think—” started Dorian slowly. “I think it’s time for you to return to Skyhold. I’ll find him, I swear. Please, Inquisitor, he said the anchor would move more slowly there—”  
Solas stood up. “I am already found,” he said, crossing to stand at her shoulder.  
Dorian’s face was small, but clear. And stricken. “Good. Then do something.”  
“We are. We move in a fortnight. That is why we—”  
“Fasta vass, Solas, I didn’t mean the Veil. I meant _her_. Take that thing out of her.”  
“Do you truly think I would have waited so long if I were capable of doing it?”  
“You stopped it during the Inquisition. Do— _that_ , if you can’t do more,” he said, waving a hand vaguely.  
“I only delayed it. And I am doing what I can.”  
“Maker’s—” he cut himself off with a frustrated huff. “Look at her. It has been less than a month since I saw her last. The mark was still at the base of her neck.”  
Solas glanced over at the Inquisitor, truly alarmed. She shifted uncomfortably, touching her emerald cheek.  
“What good is being an ancient elven god if you cannot even save the person you love?” asked Dorian gently.  
“I am not a god,” Solas snapped, still staring at the Inquisitor.  
“It’s _your_ magic that’s killing her—”  
“I _know_ ,” he turned back to the crystal.  
“You turned half the darvaarad to stone.”  
“Yes.”  
“Opened the eluvians.”  
Solas sighed. “That did not require special power, just the right key.”

“You—” he lowered his voice, as if the Inquisitor were not standing just beside Solas. “You stopped the anchor from demolishing Kirkwall.”  
“What?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“I only stabilized it—”  
“You stabilized it and then you left her alone,” snarled Dorian. “You let it grow until her arm was consumed. All the time you _knew_ what was happening.”  
“I could not have slowed it any more than I had, just as I cannot slow it now—”  
“You were in Kirkwall?” asked the Inquisitor.   
“I’m sorry, my love. I had no wish to refresh the wounds I had made.”  
“You _left_ ,” snapped Dorian. “If I’d known what you’d do to her, if you could see the madness you created— I never would have encouraged you. I would have kept you as far from her as possible. Damn you for using me and damn you more for causing my friend so much suffering.”  
“I assure you I am far more grieved by my failures toward the Inquisitor than any.”  
“Vishante kaffas. You have no monopoly on grief—”  
“I’m not a sack of flour!” The Inquisitor smacked the table and startled them both. “This might well be one of our last conversations. I don’t wish the final words you exchange to be in anger over _me_. I have determined my own fate.”  
“Ir abelas, Vhenan, you’re right.”  
Dorian sighed and smoothed his mustache looking guiltily away. “Sorry, sorora,” he said at last. “I just— miss what we were. _Who_ we were.”  
“As do I,” admitted Solas. 

“What’s the plan then?” asked Dorian, quickly clearing his throat. “We have a few thousand mages waiting on your word, sorora. And the Chargers, of course. They were all I could trust with this. The magisterium will no doubt join the fight, but it will take time for them to notice. I don’t dare warn them ahead of time. We— obviously don’t have the best history. I don’t want to give us a chance to prove we haven’t altered.”  
“I had thought to lower the Veil in a fortnight, but—” he looked quickly at the Inquisitor, noting again the length of the line crossing her nose. “If the anchor has advanced as rapidly as you say— I am uncertain it is wise to wait so long.”  
“Where in Thedas _are_ you?”  
“Arlathan. In the center of the forest. Three days journey due east from Qarinus. You have safe passage to join us, Dorian, but if you betray my people—”  
“Peace, Solas. The only neck I want to snap is your scrawny, unwashed one. The elves have nothing to fear from me or the mages with me. But I don’t think we will arrive in force until the fortnight is spent. The mages are gathering, but not all have yet reached the border. Iron Bull thought you would be in the forest, though I confess I don’t know what would draw you to the cursed place.”  
That surprised Solas. “Don’t you?” he asked. “I am here because Arlathan is here. The root of all the danger. Your elusive Black City.”  
“What? The Black— You— _you_. I should have guessed. That bloody Mareno. Damn you, Solas.”  
He sighed. “I hardly need your condemnation added to the the heap. I am not Corypheus, Dorian. I didn’t come here to seize power. I came to repair the harm I’ve done. If that is possible.”  
“ _You_ may not want it, but I cannot promise my colleagues won’t.” Dorian scraped a shaking hand down his cheek. “This is— less than ideal. I thought I could promise you that my people would not turn on yours but— the seat of the Maker. I don’t think others will be as ready as the Inquisitor and I to have their faiths challenged. I don’t know what they’ll do.”  
“They will find Arlathan mostly empty, falon. We have not been idle. And what remains— I did not leave unprotected any more than I left the Crossroads. You saw what happened to those who tried to harm us.”  
“I saw,” said Dorian. “You won’t need to expend the energy. If I cannot rein the others in, I’ll do it myself. It is ruin for Tevinter, too, to repeat what’s gone wrong.” He rubbed his forehead, frustrated.   
“We have a common foe now. More than one. I do not think this will be a repeat of our past. Urgency and the larger threat will likely push aside the drive for— lesser concerns. At least for a time. I rely upon you, Dorian, to broker peace between our people afterward. I am sorry I will not be here to aid you in it.” 

Dorian twisted his mustache, fretting. “Perhaps I should just come alone. It will be faster.”  
“I don’t think this will be a short war, Dorian,” the Inquisitor said gently. “They will still need you in a month.”  
“I know, but you need me _now_. And I am not there.”  
“There is nothing to be done, fratera. Solas is keeping the anchor as stable as possible and we must wait for the people here to prepare. Stay safe with Iron Bull as long as you may. Be _happy_.”  
“How can I be happy knowing what you are both readying yourselves for? We have always met danger together, sorora. How can I rest knowing you are facing it without me?”  
The Inquisitor smiled, leaning over Solas’s arm to see his image better. “Because I _asked_ , Dorian. Because it is not something to be earned, though if it were, you _have_. Because it gives me courage to know you are well and loved and joyful, for as long as you may be.”  
“Then— this is, perhaps, goodbye.” He raked his hand through his hair, focused his gaze on Solas again. “I don’t suppose— she thinks you’re the Maker you know.”  
“I’m not,” said Solas.  
“I know. But your existence pretty well knocks His out of the probable. And— Cole’s gone somewhere. Not that he’d tell me anyway. Not in a way I can understand. I never had doubts about what happens— after. Not really a thought a necromancer wishes to entertain.”  
“I know with no more certainty than you, my friend.”  
He nodded. “If there is— _something_ , it’s going to take a century or two to forgive you. You know that.”  
“I do. And I’ll wait longer, if I must,” admitted Solas. “I owe you much, Dorian Pavus. This chance to wipe away the blight. The amulet that I hope will save us all. The Inquisitor’s love.” Dorian shook his head, ready to protest, but Solas prevented him. “Even aside from all of that— you have been a cherished friend. I am a better man for having known you. Sule ar’an ane saron sal, dareth shiral, falon.”  
“Ar lath ma, isa’ma’lin,” said the Inquisitor, wiping her eyes.  
Dorian’s own eyes reddened. “I love you too.” He said. Cleared his throat. “Ave et valete, amicis.”   
The crystal sizzled and crumbled into shining shards in Solas’s hand, the spell permanently ended. A wise, if sad, precaution on Dorian’s part. The Inquisitor touched the warm stone in his palm. He put it gently on the table and slipped his arms around her. 

“Why is it worse this time?” she asked. “We have faced death before. Why am I more terrified now?”  
 _Because it is inevitable this time,_ he thought, but did not speak. It could not comfort her, to remind her there was no escape. “It grieves me to see you frightened, my love,” he said instead. “Do you remember what Cullen told you so long ago, when Haven was attacked? That we are fortunate to be able to choose our ending, not everyone can do that.”  
“It should comfort me,” she admitted, “but I am a coward.”  
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “It is not fear that makes one a coward. I met a spirit of valor once. We watched the battle of Starkhaven together, in the Fade. It was not drawn to the field where the standards of the Chantry and Tevinter whipped in the harsh wind, or the clash of steel as the knights fought each other. I found it lingering near the memory of a young girl out in the farmlands. The fighting had been heavier there, laborers and common soldiers battling for who would rule their lives in the future. The girl was crouching beside the body of her father in the field before their small home. The father was already gone and I could hear the crying of other children nearby.   
‘Why here?’ I asked the spirit. ‘This man has already protected his family, the deed is done.’  
‘I am not here to watch the man,” said the spirit, ‘but the child.’ It pointed to a large cluster of torches moving across the field. ‘They will be here in moments, burning the stables and houses as they go. She is frightened.’ I looked back at the girl, and she was shaking. But she gently slid her father’s sword from his hand and struggled to even lift it.  
‘There can be no glory in this,’ I said. ‘She should take the other children and flee.’  
‘Valor has nothing to do with glory,’ said the spirit, ‘one of her siblings is lame. They will not get far, and they have nothing except this place. She is not foolish, just courageous.’ It bent to touch her memory’s face. ‘All the terrible stories of war, all the nightmares and warnings running through her head— all the doubt of her own strength, and still she stood. For her brother’s sake.’  
‘Did he live?’ I asked.  
‘No,’ said the spirit. ‘But they died knowing they were loved. That is what valor means, standing to aid another. That is why I choose this memory over the knights dueling for status or gold.’” He traced the lace of the anchor across her neck. “You are not a coward. You choose to face the darkspawn in your last days. Days that could be filled with peace if you fled.”  
“But you don’t seem frightened,” she muttered.  
“Because my fear was never the end of this life. It was outlasting all that I loved. I have been saved that fate. I wish there were anything I could do to ease your mind as you have eased mine. I do not know our fate, but I know we remain, in some form. I have walked with the dead, part of the way. And we have both seen Mythal return from that place.”  
“A part of her,” protested the Inquisitor. “An echo or a memory.”  
“Maybe,” he answered, though he doubted Mythal’s gift was only a pale reflection of what she had been. It didn’t feel that way. “If we are to end, if all that remains is an echo, a ripple in the places and people we have touched— yours will be moving the world for centuries. I can imagine no greater legacy than that.”


	104. The Hall of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8H0e-jZJDFs&t=0s&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=84

He felt the buzz of her magic unravel as she dropped the wards, watched the swift, panicked movements as she replaced them, still fearing the anchor would seize her while she was unprotected. And then the drained sag of her shoulders as she finished, the bitter draught of lyrium, the soft clink of the bottle rolling against others in her pack. The frantic way she tried to check her skin for evidence that the mark was growing still more. This was not what he wished for her.   
“I will not let it consume you unexpectedly,” he said. “That much, at least, I can do. I will keep watch. _Rest_. If all I can offer you are a few days of peace, I would make them as easy as possible.”  
She nodded and replaced her shirt, but he could see the muscle in her jaw pulse, still worrying over it. He needed to give her something else to think on. Something to wonder at.   
“I know the day has been long, but I would show you something— give you a good dream of our home if I can. Will you join me in a walk, Vhenan?”  
She smiled. “Of course.” She held out her hand to him. 

Arlathan was no longer the quiet, moveless hulk of rubble it had been when he arrived. Temples had been fortified and transformed to new purpose. Muddy paths cut through the silver snow and hearth fires shone through the cracked walls and arched windows. Everywhere the sound of voices rising and falling. But he led her further, past where the footprints dwindled and the only light came from the moons and the green fire of the mark. The thick silence of empty snow pressed against them and she whispered, “Where are we going, Solas?”  
“To see the secret dreams of the People,” he said, smiling. She faltered.  
“Secret? But that’s— not for me.”  
He shook his head. “It wasn’t meant to be secret from all, _especially_ not from you. Only from the Evanuris. Only from those who wished them harm. They were left for you, for those who came after. To show what they were. How they loved, how they celebrated and grieved. Just as your record in the Veilfire room.”  
“You knew?” Her face brightened. “It _was_ you. You left me that memory— why didn’t you return to me?”   
He kissed her hand. “I wished to. You were not at Skyhold. And I knew I would find you soon after, the anchor was becoming unmanageable.”

Her face shifted, the light shimmering as her expression crumbled. “How much time have I wasted?” she muttered.  
“None, Vhenan,” he said quickly, pressing his forehead to hers. “ _None_. It could have happened no other way but this. Do not regret your decisions. They were wise ones, though I wanted only to choose foolishly. We did what we must. Put the idea aside. Be with me now.”  
Their breath was a thin, warm mist between them. He watched it, fearing hers would stutter, that she’d succumb to sadness, when what he wished for most was to draw her away from sorrow. But she only tipped her face up to him, kissed him with cool lips. “It’s cold, emma lath,” she reminded him gently, “and I cannot warm us now.”  
“We are not far— I do not dare warm us with a spell, but there is a hearth where we are headed, and I left kindling when I last was there.” He slipped his hand into hers, chafing it gently to heat her skin and led her further into the forest. 

The temple’s metal roof shimmered even in the low light, peeling back in jagged opening petals where the enormous Sonallium had first crumbled and then imploded just above it.   
“What happened to this place?” asked the Inquisitor as they picked their way over the worked stone of June’s collapsed colonnade.   
“The Veil happened,” he said, helping her climb up the shattered steps into the temple. “Much of Arlathan depended on the Fade. It was part of Elvhenan’s bones. When I shut it away, the city collapsed. Every part. It was chaos. But the destruction is not what is surprising. What’s remarkable is that anything remains.” He picked up the lantern he’d left in corner of the doorframe and lit it. “I should not have left them. Of all the charges that have been laid at my feet— _that_ one, abandoning them— _you_ , I regret most. And it is perhaps, the one I am most guilty of.”   
Her hand pressed his cheek and he tried to shake himself of the melancholy that threatened to overtake them both. He smiled, held up the lantern. “But that is not why I brought you here. I brought you here for a good dream that I have long owed you. Many.” He pulled her into the temple, flicking a spell toward the old crystal lanterns that still hung upon the walls. They sparked and blazed brightly, one after another revealing the vibrant portraits of the Evanuris stretching over the walls. The Inquisitor drew closer to the painted scenes, staring intently. He watched the naked wonder in her expression. It was not his original reason for bringing her, but he was unwilling to break her fascination. 

“What is this place? Did you paint them?” she asked.  
He laughed. “No, Vhenan. Though I am flattered by you mistaking them for mine. This is June’s temple. His people made these, and the others I wish to show you. He was their chronicler. It was June that made them gods, if any can truly claim that. He guarded their images, their stories. Made certain that they would be elevated and worshiped. And—” He turned to point at the opposite wall, where a range of flawed and hideous creatures gamboled in bright colors. “And also ensured any rivals would be seen as threats to be shunned, pushed out, unaided. This place was one of his trophy halls. It was not he who painted them, though.” He brushed some dust from Elgar’nan’s golden knee. “It was hundreds of his slaves. Weaving veilfire into the very plaster. So the memory would endure as long as the temple, for those with the power to see.”

She looked forlornly at her hand. “I do not have enough magic left even to summon veilfire,” she said. He put the lantern down and caught her fingers with his own.  
“Ir abelas. I know how painful it is to find yourself weaker than you expected to be.” He twisted the casting ring gently. “It will return. Very soon, it will all return to you. Until then—” He held out his other hand, a ball of veilfire filling his palm, “let me care for you, in the ways that I may. I cannot remove the anchor or strengthen your wards without harming you, but this small thing—” he smiled. “Let me be the lamplighter for you, Vhenan.” He held up his hand to show her the first panel, Elgar’nan’s ancient war to drive the dwarves from Elvhenan. He watched her fall into the memory. It was not a lovely one. None of these were. Brutal victories in war, each of them, meant to honor great generals. He had not brought her here for more suffering.  
“Does the Shaperate— you should _tell_ them,” she gasped as it left her. “They should know how they came to be in Orzammar— how strong they are, to fight an Evanuris.”  
“I expect it would produce similar results to telling the Dalish their own history. Denial, hostility— exclusion.” He sighed. “But they will see it soon enough. The memory will shine constantly in the presence of the Fade. Whether the Legion of the Dead chooses to tell the king or not— this is not what I wished to show you. This is—” he waved vaguely, “fairy stories, I think you said once. I have something better.” 

He pulled her gently away from the grand hall, though she cast a regretful glance back at the murals. There was little that had survived the centuries, unprotected by both spell and shelter. The scrolls were long dust, the fine tapestries millennia unraveled. The temple was empty and sprawling except for the intricate metalwork that glinted in the light of his lamp. He bypassed the long galleries of mosaic sagas and the empty stone chambers that had held the work of countless scribes, choosing, instead, a low stone doorway at the end of a wide corridor. He stooped to enter it and turned back to warn her of the uneven threshold.  
“We are behind the trophy hall,” he said. He held up the lantern to show her more paintings, these far cruder, rushed and furtive as they must have been. “The slaves called this the hall of fools,” he said with a slow chuckle. “An act of rebellion. It is not what I want you to see, but—” he pulled forth another ball of veilfire. “Sera must have had an influence upon me.” He held up the veilfire, again to Elgar’nan. A memory of Elgar’nan captured by Geldauran, tricked by his own rage into Geldauran’s trap. The mighty Evanuris chained and humiliated before the eyes of a soldier, one that had been sent to rescue him. He’d been freed after lengthy negotiations with Mythal and a vow never to pursue Geldauran again. The soldier had kept this memory, had held it in him until the painting, had slapped it into the rough lines of the image where it stood for centuries, a testimony to the fallibility of the Evanuris. It was hope where only those who needed it would see. The Inquisitor touched the glimmering fingerprints of veilfire the soldier had left, as if she could reach the hand that left it, as if she could tell him she saw, she understood what he had seen. 

“This must have been perilous,” she said, pulling his hand to the next. Falon’din.   
“It was,” he said. “If any of them had been caught, it would have meant immediate execution. Of the painter. Of the memory maker. And all of their kin. But they knew their masters well. No Evanuris ever entered here. The only betrayal would come from among their fellow slaves.”  
“Did it?” she asked.  
“On occasion,” he said, “but not often.”  
She turned back to the painting, watching Falon’din growl with rage in one of his infamous rages. A warning, as well as a mockery. The man who craved adoration was hideous in his anger and deadly when humiliated. Solas had seen the memory maker’s fate. He hadn’t been caught, not for this painting, but had been slaughtered nonetheless. The Inquisitor shuddered as the memory faded. He stroked her hair. “We don’t need to linger here,” he said, “I wanted to show you something beautiful—”

She turned to follow him, but the veilfire caught on Andruil’s scarlet armor and she stood, arrested by the memory. One of the guards who kept her a year in quarantine with Solas. She’d remembered the way Andruil had raged at them all. The way the blight diminished her. Angry and slow and stumbling— perhaps all that had saved Solas and the guards from death. The Inquisitor turned toward him. Kissed him. “I’m _sorry_ ,” she said.   
“It was long, long ago. And she was— not herself.”  
“She seemed as rational as you did, when I saw you in Redcliffe— when you were infected. But you were not cruel. Not like that.”  
“Perhaps I was not as ill.”  
The Inquisitor watched him. “Was she kind, before the blight?”  
“No,” he admitted.  
“That is a relief.”  
The statement startled him. “Why a relief, Vhenan?”  
She stood on her toes, kissed each of his eyelids carefully. “Because in a fortnight, you will also have the blight. Darkspawn— I can understand them. Pity them. Mindless and hungry to the point of madness. But this— what happened to _her_ — that was not mindlessness. That was— brutality. I am not certain I could forgive that, Solas.”  
“I cannot know how the blight will alter me. But I hope we will not have the time to find out.” He stared at the flat image. “It is always there. That knowledge that I could be like them. That there is so little separating what they have done from the choices I made. That it is too late, and I have already surpassed their indifference and cruelty.”

She shook her head. “If that were true, I would not be here. Neither of us would have allowed it.”  
“You did not know me before. I let Corypheus find the orb. I didn’t plan to help you. Not then. I would have torn down the Veil and taken only those who survived with me—”  
“But you _didn’t_. You had the opportunity, and you chose another path.”  
“It was you that persuaded me.”  
She smiled. “It wasn’t. You might have joined Corypheus in that other Redcliffe. You might have become close enough to take the orb. I know you were capable of persuading him. Just revealing your identity would have secured your place. But you refused. Accepted your fate rather than give him more power. _Died_ to undo it. You did not love me there. And I was dead, as far as you knew. You chose for yourself. From the beginning. From this day—” she pointed to the painting. “When you shielded those weaker than you from Andruil’s wrath. Probably earlier. Every day, you’ve chosen over and over to remain something _better_. You are not like them— at least, not like the memories I’ve seen.” She laughed softly. “You can dismiss me. I’ll freely admit that I’m infatuated with you, I am hardly a dependable judge. But the people who are here— thousands of elves, Solas. More than the Inquisition ever was. All these people are not your slaves. They don’t stay because you compel them. They are with you on the very brink of the Void because they trust you. Depend upon their judgment. You are not Andruil.” She ran her fingers over the rough plaster. “And I do not see you on this wall, no matter how your story has changed in the years since. These people did not think you a fool.” She put her hand into his, pressing out the veilfire, leaving only the lamp and her own emerald glow. “Enough of the Evanuris. You promised me a good dream.”  
He smiled. “Indeed. And a fire to warm you. Come with me, Vhenan.”


	105. What I will not Miss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYD7CzdPPN0

June’s slave quarters were not the small, private huts that Mythal had favored, nor the orderly barracks of Falon’din. They had been housed together, here, little regard for modesty or space. Cramped niches carved into the stone walls had served as beds, as if June preferred to shelve his slaves, like tomes in a great library. Or like the Chantry tombs that came later. The Inquisitor bent to peer into one as they passed. “What are they?” she asked.  
“Bunks. The only space that a slave had the right to.” Solas scowled. “June made certain to keep them as small as possible. I’m certain the tapestries appreciated all that room to breathe.”   
She ran a hand over the stone ledge beside her. Uncomfortable and cold, even for someone as used to rough accommodations as she. “So many?” she asked.  
The number of niches were dizzying, even for Solas, who had seen them when they were still occupied. “Indeed. Elvhenan did not build itself.” He raised the lantern to cast light on the long stone ladders to the higher bunks. “This was only one temple. June had several. They all did. To say nothing of the nobility who kept their own.” His arm sagged, the lantern light flickering and pooling on the coarse floor. “I never even made a dent. And now— every one has gone.”  
Her hand tugged his collar, turning him toward her. “Wherever they went, however they lived after the Veil— it was as free elves.”  
He shook his head. “If they even survived the Veil, it would have been a life of fear and want until Tevinter—”  
“Why?” she interrupted. “Why must it always be desolate in your imagination? Maybe they left this place willingly. Happily. Maybe they spread across Thedas, living in peace, raising families and clans together. Their labor was their own. Do you know? Did you seek them out in the Fade?”  
“I avoided it for a long time, preferring to spend my time with spirits. There was nothing I could do to alter the People’s fate. I didn’t believe there was a purpose in simply witnessing their suffering. It was centuries before I altered.”  
“Think of them joyful then. Imagine them at ease, in comfort, with those they loved.”  
“But without the Fade, it would be like losing…” he trailed off. She laughed softly.  
“Like losing a limb, Solas?” she asked. “I admit, I’ve had my portion of dark thoughts. But there is so much _more_ to this life than only what my missing arm could do. I would not trade the days that followed to keep it. Not even the terrible ones. These people— I hope they would tell you the same. I believe they would. That story you so hate— the one where Fen’harel bites off his tail to escape the hound— you think it is a mockery, your own Hall of Fools. It isn’t. Not truly. Those who don’t look closely may assume it is a simple legend meant to exhort us to be vigilant— but the story was never about the hunter. Or the hound. It’s about _cost_. What it takes to live another day. To borrow a little more time.” She let her fingers glide over his free ones, the lightest tingle of a lightning spark crackling on his skin. “What is a tail? An arm? Even magic? Is it worth giving up the chance to try again? To move the world? To love? A tail-less Fen’harel is no less Fen’harel than an elf is doomed without the Fade. It hurts to lose it, yes, but not forever. This, too, has healed. And I am happy, even without the Fade. So were they.” She let him go, knelt near the large hearth and began clumsily arranging the small pile of wood he’d left. He bent to help her. “What good dreams are here?” she asked.  
He lit the bundle of wood, and helped her back to her feet. “Come and see,” he said, leading her back toward the small niches. He counted them to find the one he sought. “Here, it will be a little snug, but—” He slid into the narrow shelf and extended a hand back to her. She climbed carefully in beside him, bumping his side.   
“How’d they ever— he’d bump his head,” she muttered, extending her hand to find the roof of the shelf only a few inches from her nose.   
Solas laughed. “Love finds a way, Vhenan, every time. There were as many children as ever, even here.” He pulled a small flicker of veilfire into his hand. Brushed her hair from her forehead. “But that is not what I brought you here for. Look.”   
She glanced up at the elaborate painting above them. “Oh—” was all she managed before the veilfire caught and they fell into the memory.

“Quickly, Nehna,” whispered a voice. “The tender will only be gone for a short time.” A warm hand shook his chest and the dark fell away as a young man’s face glowed in the lamplight. The memory-form rose, followed the man, his hand warm and tugging. Down into the cool damp of a cave that smelled of earth and something acrid. “Are you ready?” asked the man, as the tunnel opened up into a vast glade under a night sky. The large shadows of a pair of dragons lay sleeping at the far end.  
“I am not certain—”  
“No,” scolded the man, “no more arguments. Tonight we fly like the gods.” His hands danced and a hypnotic series of syllables spilled from him. Then a smooth pull, like a swift current and suddenly the memory was larger. Denser. Crackling and warm, like a deep draught of strong liquor in Solas’s chest. Something nudged him. Heavy. He rocked sideways, some instinct raising a foreign limb to balance. Wings, the emotion was still surprising, though he’d seen this memory countless times. His claws dug in the soft soil and his neck snapped sideways to catch what was shoving him. The other dragon. The man who had cast the spell. He turned slowly, lumbering in the massive body, unused to the dimensions. The other dragon growled, tensed and then leapt. His wings caught him before he could tumble back to the ground. The memory-form did not yet know how to follow. It roared in surprise and flame erupted from its throat, catching a nearby boulder in the blast. Embarrassment and a sudden spike of fear. They should not be here. This was forbidden.   
There was a shout from behind and the memory-form panicked and leapt. Instinct spread the beast’s wings and the memory soared up and over the stone edge of the glade. Out over the sea, the other dragon circling and dipping around it. _He’s done this before. How many times?_ The powerful pull of the wings pushed the memory-form higher, the lights of Arlathan a haze of blue and gold below. 

The memory faded and left the glittering scales of the roaring dragon in paint above them. She touched it, tracing the plumes of scarlet flame and reaching past him to carefully wipe the dust from the broad wings. “What happened to them?” she asked.  
“They were caught. The woman, Nehna, she was punished, but released eventually. She was not the one who stole the secret from Dirthamen. The man though— was given to Elgar’nan. Nehna painted this, I think. This bold act of rebellion against the gods’ decree. None but the Evanuris were permitted to take this form.”  
“But— if they had the secret, then others could have?” she looked back to his face.  
“No. These two— they were likely hiding their power. The Evanuris did not suffer rivals. I think it more likely the man died for _that_ than this nighttime excursion. I don’t know what Nehna promised in order to be released. Someone must have shielded her.”  
The Inquisitor turned back to the painting. “This is what it will feel like, then?”  
“I would imagine it will be similar.”  
She let out a breath. Turned to smile at him, sad and gentle. “I was afraid it would be painful for you. Or— violent. But it isn’t so terrible, is it?”  
“No, my love, it will not be terrible.” He brushed her cheek. “Do not fear for me. After all, what is a tail? Or—” He held up his hand with a smile. “An arm? A body? Just something to borrow us a little more time. It is not me. Or you. Nehna survived shedding her body. And the dragon’s after. So will we.”  
She leaned in to kiss him.   
“Shall I show you another?” he asked.  
“There are more?”  
“More than there are bunks. But I know a few that will please you most.”

 

She was hesitant when she caught a glimpse of the varterral, the sharp, spindly angles catching the firelight. She stopped his hand before he could pull the veilfire into it. “These creatures are dangerous.”  
“So are dragons,” he said.  
“But— what are you going to show me? I’m tired of destruction.”  
“No destruction. Only dancing.”  
“Dancing?”  
He smiled and lit the painting.

First, the deep slow thud and shaking earth of something heavy moving across the ground. Then the vision cleared and an enormous, spiny creature hovered above, its sharp nose swishing side to side as it tried to catch a scent. It opened its mouth to hiss low and loud.  
“Mor’ghi,” scolded the elf’s memory, “it’s only me.”  
Another hiss from the creature.  
“Sullen today? And even when I brought your favorite.” The elf waved a large basin of raw meat above her head. The varterral’s head ducked closer. Its mouth snapped and it raised its forelegs in warning. The elf sighed. “Who’s been poking you, eh?” She put down the basin beside her and watched the varterral for a moment. The creature raised a leg and tapped it into the dirt. Then again. And once more in rapid succession.   
“Ah,” said the girl, “Music then? Very well.” She pulled a wooden staff from the wall and held it in front of her. Plunged it down into the dust. The varterral raised its forelegs and dropped them skittering in a circle around the elf. “Are you ready?” asked the girl. The varterall’s head nudged against her own, rough and jagged and then it backed off, waiting. The elf grinned. Then up the staff came, her arms strained as they reached as high as possible. Down with a reverberating thump. Two more followed and then she waited. The varterral ducked its sharp head and then— Thump, thump, thump, one leg followed another.   
The elf laughed. “Getting fancy? I’ve only got the one leg and you have five. Hardly fair. But I see there is no starting slowly today. Here we go!” She stumped out a rapid rhythm of beats. The creature did not wait for her to stop this time, joining her partway through, obviously familiar with the particular song. It wove around her ducking and sliding, each step careful and quick. The girl started singing. Old words for an old song, something much more ancient than Solas. The creature let out a series of throaty hums, trying to imitate. It never lost the beat. The rhythm sped up, but whether it was the girl or the creature increasing the pace, Solas could never tell. The varterral added more, a hind leg beating out a complementary cadence and the girl began to sweat, her arms aching with the shaking thud of the staff, but she kept up. The cavern filled with the noise, echoing to make a dozen drums out of their three and crescendoed until the girl, laughing, fell behind.   
“Ah, Mor’ghi,” she cried, reaching out to stroke the nose the varterral bent toward her, “you are a better dancer than me.”

The Inquisitor was flushed, her eyes shining, as if it had been her arms keeping the time. He laughed as she turned to him, still smiling. “I knew you loved dancing,” he said.  
“Was it a pet?”  
“A sentry. Meant to guard the Dreamers. That one was young. Still training. They remain, in a few hidden places, but most have grown wild. No one remains to teach them— dancing or anything else. I tried, a few times, when I was uncovering the network. There are varterral that linger around the eluvians. Some instinct or old nesting grounds keep them there. I was never able to calm them and was forced to drive them away. Maybe, when the Veil falls, a spirit will teach us how to speak with them again.”  
Her smile wavered and faded as she shifted to look at the long portrait above them again.  
“What is it?” he asked.  
“Nothing of import. Dancing varterral,” she laughed lightly, but he could see the muscle in her jaw flutter. He touched her hip beside his.  
“I meant these to give you _good_ dreams, my heart.”  
“They _do_. They will. There’s just— so much I’ll miss. So _many_ things I wanted to see, to do. So many lost things returning, and they are all beyond my reach.” She cleared her throat. “Silly and selfish. Don’t listen to me. I have had so much good in my days already. It is ungrateful to long for more.”  
“If it is a failing, then it is a common one. I have had much longer to tire of this world, but there are experiences I deeply regret missing, too.”  
She was silent a moment, still staring at the painting. “I won’t miss latrines in winter,” she blurted out.  
He laughed.  
“Or sand in my ears. Or those boots from Tevinter Dorian always tried to get me to wear.”  
“Mm. I won’t miss those either,” he answered.   
“What else?” she asked, twisting toward him, her smile returning.  
“The taste of tea.”  
“Or those pickled eggs that Cullen loves,” she said, wrinkling her nose.  
“Briars underfoot.”  
“Bug bites.”  
“Or the rashvine smoke that drives them away,” he added and she laughed. He touched the tendrils of light struggling toward her temple. “This. I won’t miss the anchor.”  
“I admit it will be a relief to finally let it go,” she said. He wasn’t certain she was speaking only of the anchor. He kissed her and could feel the anchor thrumming under her skin. She was not going to last a fortnight.   
“One more,” he whispered. “One more to show you. For us both.”  
She nodded and slid slowly out of the bunk.


	106. Elgar'las

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tueIucsnDlw

He led her to the center of the room, opened the bedroll he’d left there. “I want to tell you a star story,” he said and drew her down to the blankets. He lay back, his arms cushioning his head. She followed and he mourned the absence of her elbow brushing his.   
“There are no stars, Solas,” she said. “The roof is whole.”  
“Patience, Vhenan,” he said, sending veilfire rippling up into the distant dome. “Before the Veil, spirits mingled with our people freely. Some chose to take on our forms and remain among us. And we have spoken of how our own people forsook this world in uthenera, seeking out the deepest parts of the Fade. The spirits were many, as many as our own people and more, for there are as many as we have shades of emotion and compulsions. But there were a few who did not visit this existence as often as others. Spirits of Wisdom were always a rare and marvelous thing, even at the height of Elvhenan, while spirits of anger were drawn to us often. But there was one who retreated completely when the Evanuris proclaimed themselves gods and began taking slaves. I only ever heard legends of it.” The veilfire touched the first point of his painting, the outstretched hand of the figure, it blazed forth and he watched the Inquisitor slip into the memory. His own, of the terrible blast at the Conclave. He’d been descending into the valley when the sky rent, emerald and shrieking. The snow rumbling around him, though he was still miles above the temple. The danger of avalanche seemed remote and small compared with the terror the ragged breach caused.

She was shaking as she returned to him. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her. “They said it lingered in places like this, in the hovels of slaves planning rebellion. In birthing rooms and down among the dwarves, in the Proving arena. But it never was convinced to manifest again. And gradually, it grew more distant, slipping farther and farther into the Fade as life in this world grew more cruel.” Another light shone out, a shoulder. This time, Cassandra as he had first met her. Disheveled and sooty from the flames. She’d been trying to drag a wounded mage from the end of the bridge and awkwardly slashing at a rage demon with her sword arm.   
“Leave him,” barked a nearby soldier, aiming his bow at the demon. “It’s them that caused it, mark my words.”  
“Not _this_ one,” snarled Cassandra. “He was outside the blast or he’d already be dead. Just like the rest. Like—” she broke off with an anguished yell and stabbed at the demon. Solas stepped in to finish it with a spell. She turned the blade on him. “Who are you? How did you escape?”  
“Apologies,” said Solas calmly, “I was— late to the Conclave. It is only luck that saved me.”  
“Are you Dalish?” she asked.  
“No.”  
“An apostate then,” cried the soldier.  
Solas didn’t wait to hear Cassandra’s response but knelt next to the mage. “I only came to offer aid,” he said, casting a healing spell on the unconscious mage. “That green light is a tear in the Veil. In a few hours, spirits will be attracted to it and you will be overrun,” he murmured, low enough that the soldier would not heal.  
Cassandra crouched beside him. “You know how to stop it?” she asked. He noted she had not sheathed the sword.  
“I am uncertain. But given the opportunity to study it, I may be able to offer some solution, yes.”  
“It was likely a mage that caused this. Why should I trust _you_?”  
He picked up the staff he had laid beside him. Handed it to her. “Because I’m here. And I’m not running at the sight of a Seeker.”  
Cassandra nodded, but her hand closed over the staff.  
The memory faded.

“Wisdom told me it met the spirit once. But that to find this spirit and Wisdom together was something rare indeed. One often drove away the other. It said the spirit had complained that seeing the world too clearly had made it lose itself, warped it from its purpose. Wisdom advised it to retreat, that its view was too small. If it saw all the world at once, it would regain its purpose. So the spirit flew to the stars, to get a clearer vision.” The other shoulder lit up.  
A memory of Varric, pacing the stone floor of the Chantry as Cassandra and Cullen argued. He elbowed Solas. “You think it’s as bad as these two are making it out to be?”  
“I think it is likely to be worse, Master Tethras.”  
“Shit. We should go. Get these people out of here. Village full of kids and farmers and chantry sisters. They aren’t going to be able to fight demons. We should be loading them on carts right now—”  
“I agree.”  
Varric stopped pacing. “Well then, don’t you think you should _tell_ them that?” he asked.  
Solas laughed, but it was sour and short. “They are as likely to listen to you as me, and you are Cassandra’s prisoner, are you not?”  
“If you won’t do it, _I_ will, prisoner or not. Seeker!”   
Cassandra turned with a scowl. “This does not concern you, Varric.”  
“The sky is about to rain demons, Seeker. I’d say that concerns us all. You have people who can’t fight here. Lots of them. You need to evacuate—”  
“We don’t have time for that,” said Cullen, “all of our men need to be prepared to hold back the demons—”  
“Hold them back from what?” asked Varric, “What are you defending, if not the people? The buildings? The chantry church? They can be rebuilt. _Make_ time, Cullen. These people are what’s important.”  
Cullen rubbed his neck and glanced at Cassandra, who sighed.   
“Very well,” said Cassandra, “You and Solas take a squad and round up some wagons. Three hours, and then I need you at the front to relieve others.”  
Varric nodded.  
“Three hours, Varric! Or when this is done I’ll hunt you down—”  
“Relax, Seeker. Where would I go? The story is all here.”  
The Inquisitor smiled as the memory released her.

“There was a prophecy, though, whispered among the slaves for generations,” said Solas, “That the spirit would someday return. When all seemed lost, it would descend from the stars to aid the People.” Another flash of veilfire, the center of the figure’s chest. The Inquisitor flinched at the explosion that echoed in the memory.   
He’d been fighting in the crater, side by side with Varric, a small squad of soldiers around them, when the ruins were rocked again with the explosion of green light and a figure tumbled down the rubble and came to rest in the ash.   
“Andraste’s ass, what was that?” asked Varric. Solas stabbed the end of his staff into a terror demon with a grunt. One of the soldiers ran up to the lump in the dust.   
“It’s a woman!” he cried. “She’s alive!”  
The others ran to help. Solas crouched beside Varric, turning Lavellan over. He frowned when he could find no obvious injury.   
“What’s wrong with her?” asked one of the soldiers. Solas shook his head. Varric lifted her hand and gently wiped the soot from her palm.  
“I’d say it probably has something to do with this,” he said, spreading her fingers to show Solas the emerald brand in the center.

The Inquisitor rubbed her cheek, as if the soot and the vallaslin were still there. As if they were in Haven and the char still stank upon her skin instead of here, in the quiet empty of June’s temple. “We used to invoke the spirit before raids to free slaves. Before battles with the Forgotten Ones. In the panicked moments before I raised the Veil. But it never answered. It was not time.”  
A light at the painting’s hip burned brightly. This time Sera. He’d caught her splashing around in Winter Palace’s large fountain after the ball.   
“What are you doing?” he asked.  
She plunged her face into the water for an instant. Something glittered in her hand when she rose again. “Rich nobs been tossing them in all night. Already found dozens,” she spluttered, holding the coin up for him to see.  
“Sera, if you need money—”  
“Psh. Not for me. Got what I need. But you see how pinched those kitchen servants are? What’s left of em. Imagine making food all day and never eating near enough. Josephine took me round back and gave me a scolding beforehand or I’d snatch them right from their big, ugly purses. But she never said anything about the fountain. So. Baker down in low quarter opens in an hour. Got that long to find em all and buy up the day’s bread. Or a month’s. Not much, but maybe it’ll put a little padding on their bones.” She squeezed her hair and it dribbled. “You going to help or just stand there? Didn’t piss in the fountain or anything.” She laughed. “Yet.”  
Solas stepped into the water and called a small light to search for the glint of gold.

“As time went on, people spoke of the spirit less and less. It’s legend was forgotten. Only Wisdom and I remained to look for it in the Fade. We searched everywhere. All the ancient dreams of the People we could find. But we were unlucky.” A star at the knee, this time. And Vivienne’s voice with it.   
“You must take her to the Circle. She cannot possibly learn to control this here—”  
“Please madame, the Circles are all in shambles. Who would take her that I can trust?”   
Solas stepped into the library doorway, watching the noblewoman frantically trying to smother the magic flame clinging to the child’s hand with her handkerchief.  
Vivienne sighed. “What on earth can _I_ do, my dear? I cannot train her for a Harrowing here, and even if I found an appropriate facility to do so, my time is not my own. If the Inquisitor needs me—”  
“You could start. _Please_. I have no one else to turn to. I don’t trust the mages from Redcliffe— for all I know they are already abominations. I heard what they did in the Circle there. And that Tevinter magister is—”  
“A _decent_ man,” interrupted Vivienne. She frowned. “But not adept at fire magic.” She knelt to face the child. “Marie, listen to me.”  
The girl looked up at her, still plainly panicking.  
“You have helped your mother in the kitchens, haven’t you?”  
The girl nodded.   
“Good. I want you to think of the fire like the dough on your mother’s hands after she kneads it. What does she do with the mess on her hands, Marie? Show me.”  
The girl was hesitant but stared at her hands, still aflame for a moment. She slowly closed her fingers over one wrist and drew them down, gathering the flame. And then the other side. Held out the ball of flame to show Vivienne.  
“Good girl. Now—” Vivienne held out her own hand and snapped it closed. The girl repeated the action and the flame went out. “There. Neat and tidy. Just like that,” said Vivienne with a smile. “Very well, Marie. Every day I’m in Skyhold, come to me after your morning chores.”  
The girl nodded. “ _Thank_ you,” sighed the mother.  
“Not a word to the Seeker or Commander Cullen, understand? If the lessons last long enough, I will tell them myself and we’ll prepare a Harrowing. But I’m confident we’ll set the Circles to rights before then.”  
The memory faded.

“I would have helped her,” said the Inquisitor.  
“As would I. But they chose Vivienne, and she did well by them.”

He lit the next star, a foot. “Boots for Dorian and Bull,” he laughed softly.  
The cold of the Emprise gnawed at his fingers, pinched every angle. He stood by his horse, waiting for Dorian, the echo of the lyrium still thumping in his head. His center still ached at the thought of leaving the Inquisitor behind. Dorian’s voice slid over the snow. “— have to make sure they have furs, Bull. Those houses aren’t fit for anyone to—”  
“Relax, Dorian. We won’t leave them to freeze. The boss has already got workmen on the way.”  
“I should stay— keep the fires lit. I can do that much at least.”   
They appeared over the small rise. Bull’s hand was on Dorian’s shoulder, guiding him firmly toward Solas. “I have a flint and steel.”  
“But I need to—”  
“No, Kadan. You need to go back to Skyhold. We don’t need you lighting fires. We need you figuring out what this shit is. I can’t do that. And the Inquisitor needs to be here. But we can smash the stuff until the end of time, unless we know how to stop it from regrowing, the templars will just keep making it. You and Solas and Viv, you have to figure it out. And you can’t do it here. You can barely even walk straight. Go _home_. I’ll keep the others safe. And the villagers. But not forever. I may be the Antaam, but you’re the cavalry.”  
“Remind her to keep her barriers up,” sighed Dorian.  
“I will.”  
“And don’t let the villagers eat anything heavy for a few days. It’ll hurt them, I’ve seen it bef—”  
“I _know_.”  
“And no dragons.”   
Bull grinned. “Can’t promise that.”  
Dorian shook his head. “Be warned, if you are foolish enough to die, I’ll come back and raise you to use as a coatrack, Amatus.” He stood on his toes and pressed a kiss to Iron Bull’s lips.  
“Thought you didn’t want anyone to—” murmured Bull.  
“I’ve ceased caring,” snapped Dorian. Solas turned away to hide a smile when Bull winked at him over Dorian’s shoulder.  
The Inquisitor wiped her tears as the memory ended.

“I’ve stopped looking for the spirit, Vhenan. Long ago. Before you were born. How could Elgar’las, a spirit of hope, return to the hard, cold place this world has become? Even my plans to dismantle the Veil did not make me think it would return. The prophecy would not occur in my lifetime, I knew. I could only dream it would come after, that something would draw it back centuries after me.”  
Another star, the opposite knee. This one Blackwall trudging through the snow behind a train of wagons. There was a tired child clinging to his back, wrapped in furs. Solas kept pace with them and passed Blackwall a skin of warmed wine.   
“Should I take a turn with her?” asked Solas.  
“No. We need you with the wounded. Not the first little one I’ve carried, she won’t break me.” Blackwall grinned through his beard. “Though— would you—” he stopped and spun partway. “In my pack. Smaller pocket. There’s a— a poppet.”  
“You want a charm?”  
“No!” Blackwall’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not like that. It’s a toy, Solas. For the girl.”  
“Ah.” Solas reached into the pack and fished around while the child peered eagerly over Blackwall’s neck at the mention of a toy. He felt the rough wooden figure and pulled it free. He held it up for the child who laughed.   
“He’s so pretty!” she cried. “It’s Master Dennet, isn’t it?”  
Blackwall twisted his head to look up at her. “Not much to see in the stables for models.”  
“Will you make a horse for him?”  
“Aye, if it pleases you.”  
The girl hugged Blackwall’s neck and he chuckled, turning back to the snowy trail.

“That was after Haven?” asked the Inquisitor.   
“It was, though I doubt it was the last time he carried a child. Or made them a toy. I am grateful for the chance to see Blackwall again, though I wish for the world’s sake, they’d all remain far from here. I’d far rather he died in his bed than down in the Deep Roads.”  
“That’s not the fate he wanted,” she said, watching him.  
“I know.” Solas turned back to the ceiling. Flicked his fingers once more, and a point at the opposite hip lit up. “Just as I had in Haven, I despaired of anything ever altering. Of any path beside the dark one I was on every revealing itself to me. But then—”

Cole stood beside him in the Inquisitor’s quarters, staring at a full washing basin.  
“Stir,” the boy commanded. Solas sighed but slowly stirred the center of the water and the slow pulse of a wave traveled from his finger to the edge of the bowl. Cole reached into his pocket, pulling out an odd assortment of items. He picked a pebble from among them and dropped it into the basin. “You see?” He pointed at the subtle rings the rock had made, crashing into his own, reshaping the waves. “Some ripples change all the others. Forever. She’s changed _you_. Why not everything?”

The Inquisitor smiled but shook her head. “I am no spirit, Solas. I don’t have that clarity of purpose.”  
“No. I would not love you half as well if you were.” The veilfire points expanded, reached for one another, completing the constellation. “But what the Inquisition did, what you’ve done— if anything can draw Elgar’las back to this world, it must be that. Whatever the outcome of this plan, there is no greater gift than the return of hope.”  
She pointed. “But it isn’t finished.”  
He tried to follow her gaze, but could see nothing wrong with the painting. “It is. The constellation is complete. I finished it some time before you arrived.”  
She stood up. “No. It’s not done. How did you get up there?”   
He followed her as she searched the dome for scaffolding. “I don’t—” She turned back to him and pressed her fingers to his mouth.  
“Just show me how to get up there.”  
“Very well. But the paints are no longer—”  
“I don’t need them.”   
He shook his head, confused, but wrapped his arms around her. A swift slip through the Fade and they stood upon the wide ledge below the painting. She turned to face the enormous mural. He felt the slip of her wards, the silence that took the place of her magic’s hum.  
“I haven’t stabilized it in hours—” he warned her.  
“I won’t break. Not for this task.” She shut her eyes. A spark of sea-green glittered in her palm. And then twisting flame, curling around itself. She opened her eyes. Looked up at the mural and then to Solas. “I can’t reach it.” She poured the flame into his hand. “Keep us together, Vhenan. There, in the heart.” She pointed above them. He looked down at the veilfire. “Don’t—” she warned him, but he looked anyway.

It was a memory of himself. One that he didn’t recognize. Disorienting, seeing himself pallid and frail, eaten up by the red glow of tainted lyrium.   
“Solas,” cried the Inquisitor’s voice. “You’re unwell.”  
Words he’d never said spilled from him, easier than he’d have expected. “I am dying, but no matter. If you can undo this, they can all be saved. If there is _any_ hope, any way to save them, my life is yours.” The memory stuttered and he was falling toward an enormous rift. His own voice echoing against his ear. “Ar lath ma.” And another, of the orb lying beside the Inquisitor’s knee.   
“Take it, or lose everything,” she cried and then closed her eyes as the boulder above her teetered. A yank and rough stone and then vision again. His own face and a wave of relief and love swept him. “You weren’t supposed to choose me…” the memory faded.   
Solas reached up to the figure’s chest and placed it beside the memory of the Inquisitor tumbling from the Breach.   
“There. Now it is complete. All of us, together,” said the Inquisitor. “Just one of a thousand good dreams.”  
He held her face, tipped it up toward him. “You were the _best_ dream,” he said.


	107. Dareth Shiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdfGonQGFyc

The empty lyrium bottles piled up. The ward took more and more to maintain it, even as he drew down the mark’s power increasingly often. He knew she woke in the night to swallow more, waking to find half empty vials beside them in the morning. And still she was utterly drained. He said nothing, only silently removing the dried bottles from her pack and replacing them with full ones from the apothecary. He hoped it would keep her from realizing how bad it had gotten, that it would keep her from panic.  
He spent distressingly few hours with her in the scant time that followed. The days were filled with moving people, with plans and supplies and training. The nights in the Fade were devoted to giving those who would accept it a taste of what was to come. Preparation for the fall of the Veil. And the Inquisitor was similarly busy, first with showing the apothecary the last improvements to the Blight tincture and then disappearing with Sevren into the Vir Dirthara to pore over ancient maps of the passages under Andruil’s temple or haunting the command center for news of Varric and Cassandra.   
Still, she appeared content with the few opportunities they did have; the bright, brisk mornings before they parted, the swift touches during the day as he interrupted her to stabilize the anchor before departing again, the warm evenings beside him until sleep. Her ward held a week. The illusion of control and focus remained until then, aided by the small creep of the anchor’s pollution across her face. It spread more slowly than Dorian had led him to fear, and he gradually slipped into a cautious calm. The swiftness of the days made every interaction seem a fragile, careful thing. As if their peace would shatter with the wrong word, the wrong touch. He ached and pretended he did not. All the while wondering if it were the same for her. If her peace was already as broken as his, and they were just wearing the same mask to shield each other. 

He was attempting to introduce some friendly spirits to Sevren when the Inquisitor’s spell finally cracked. Her agonized cry beside him ripped him from the Fade. She was green flame, the anchor pulsing and crackling as if it were her lightning trapped beneath her skin. She writhed in pain, her hand clutching at her chest, where her ward had pushed it back. Terror snapped him from the haze of sleep and he grabbed for her. The anchor’s power flooded him, tingling to the point of pain. It knocked the wind from him and he gasped for air, fell away from her in shock.  
“— go, I’ll control it next time. Don’t disappear, emma lath, _please_ ,” her voice filtered through his disorientation and her hand, drenched with sweat, clutched his arm.  
 _She believes she’s dreaming,_ he realized, trying to catch his breath. She was still shaking with the echo of hurt as he closed his arms around her. “Ar tel’varan, Vhenan.” Her clothing was damp and her hair clung to her, though the air was chill without the fire. She’d been struggling in her sleep to keep the anchor under her control. Her arm gripped his back tightly enough to make his ribs ache, but he did not move to loosen her hold.   
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Forgive me. Don’t go.”  
“There is nothing to forgive, my love. This was never your doing.” He brushed the soaked hair from her forehead. “You aren’t in the Fade. I won’t vanish.”  
He felt her gradually loosen, but could not say whether her pain had subsided or she were simply exhausted. The anchor still pulsed, the light waxing and waning in weak, erratic rhythm. It took him several minutes to realize it was moving with her heartbeat, the magic threading through her veins in a branching web. She panicked before he could, and it was some time before the skips and drags in the pulses began to prey upon his mind.

“If I’m not in the Fade then the ward—” she broke off, pulled away from him, and yanked at her shirt, trying to pull it aside from the small clearing in her chest.   
“Atishan, Vhenan. Let me help. All will be well.”   
She shook her head, but allowed him to lift the cloth over her head. A thick tendril of jade light arced through her left breast where only smooth skin had been the morning before. She traced it with her fingertip. “Alas,” she said, raising her gaze to meet his, “I wanted to hold back the sun for you. I wanted to borrow some more time. But there is nothing that will push it back now.” She lifted her hand to his brow, slid it gently down his cheek. “It is time for the Dreamer to wake now, Solas.”  
“Not yet,” he whispered, pressing his hand to her heart, pulling and pulling from the anchor. “If I can—”  
She put her hand over his. He looked up at her. “It isn’t _working,_ fanor,” she said gently. “It was never meant to. These things always have their price.” She smiled, wiped his face. “But I have driven a harder bargain than even Varric would. A few years cut short in return for all I have gained. The Inquisition, my friends, the good we have done, Skyhold. And _you_. If someone had told me what the price was before I touched the orb, if someone had shown me how this would end, all that I loved preserved, with you beside me— I would have grasped it all the same. Melath garas, emma lath.”  
He nodded, curled around her. He could feel the stuttering pulse of the anchor against his skin. “Are you in pain?” he asked.  
“Less,” she admitted.  
He kissed her shoulder. “Would healing help? I would not hold back any aid. It will spread no matter what I do.”  
“It might.” She sighed, deep and ragged. “But I have no mana remaining. Not for a few hours. And when it returns, I will replace the ward. It will hold long enough for me to reach the Deep Roads before the end.”  
The spell hummed through her chest before she’d even finished the thought and the tension drifted from her body. She softened into him in immediate relief. He wondered how long she’d been suffering without saying. “Tel’vara,” he said.  
Her hand was warm upon his back. “Not without you.”  
“The Veil will fall tomorrow.” He buried them back in the furs, but neither of them slept.

He stood in Elgar’nan’s crown, staring not at the amulet, but at the way she watched the dawn slip into the sky. She sat in the stone socket of the eidolon’s eye, newly exhausted from refreshing even a smaller ward. “It will ease, soon,” he’d told her. “Without the Veil there will be no mana starvation.”  
“I fear, without the Veil, the ward will be no match for the anchor.”  
He’d thought about it. Many times. “I believe the anchor’s pace will continue as it has,” he said. “It has been unaffected by the Veil, by design. A failsafe that Wisdom and I arranged, should the worst happen. It was meant to undo the Veil should it prove disastrous. But the best laid plans often go awry.” He sighed. “For better or worse, the orb and hence the anchor were something between the Fade and our world. That is why it created the Breach. And now— how you will find a temporary reprieve, I hope.” It was a foolish hope. Half lie, but one he desperately wanted to be true. Abelas expected the anchor to grow far worse. He hoped her magic would keep pace. He’d pressed a kiss to her hand, the prickle of her spell lingering in the palm. “Will you tell me if it becomes too much? If we must flee to the Deep Roads this moment, without aid, I will not hesitate.”  
“I won’t endanger our people. If my control begins to slip again, I will tell you.”  
“And if you are in pain?”  
She hesitated. “It would not relieve me to speak, and it would only hurt you to hear.”  
He pressed his hand to her chest again, feeling her pulse, steadier than it had been. “Then hurt me, my love. I do not wish you to suffer alone. What relief I can offer, even small comforts, I wish to.”  
She’d yielded and he’d been forced to leave it, busy preparing the spell that would lower the Veil. Until all that was left was to collect the amulet and find Abelas. 

The sentinel found them first. “News arrived from the border watch this morning. The Legion of the Dead has crossed the Drylands. They will be here within three days. Your friend, Rainier, sent a raven the evening before last. The Wardens are close behind. Less than half their order arrives with them. He did not say where the others are.” Abelas placed the reports on the large table.  
Solas turned from the Inquisitor. “I’m afraid we do not have that much time, lethallin.” He watched Abelas glance at the Inquisitor and then away.  
“Ir abelas,” he said. “If it must be today— our people are ready.”  
“And you? Your purpose supersedes all. I would not compromise your chances, even for this.”  
“Be at ease, Solas. We have planned well for this. I know Andruil’s fate as well as you. Five days’ difference will not reveal anything more. We are ready. An hour, to replace the vallaslin and to leave last instructions. All is in place.”  
Solas nodded. “Three. I must send word to those who will listen. I would not leave Dorian’s forces unprepared. And to send Sevren to meet the Legion. I’d hoped to leave the eluvians unopened until necessary. But we cannot wait for them to arrive overland. Meet me in Andruil’s temple at noon.”  
Abelas inclined his head. But instead of departing, he moved to sit next to the Inquisitor. Stared out at the sunrise with her. “I wondered if it were worth saving. A long, long while. And again when Solas asked me to take his place. Knowing what the Evanuris did, knowing all the suffering that followed— the wars and slavery and ignorance. So much lost. So much forgotten. It seemed all that remained were the brittle edges of what we once were. Why wouldn’t I embrace the end? I was wrong, lethallan. I have seen the life your people have made from the ruins. It is fleeting, yes, but it is worthy.” He rested a hand upon her shoulder. “Whatever the outcome, this world will not be forgotten. I will carry it with me.”  
“That is a comfort,” the Inquisitor admitted. “This world will be less without you watching over it, Sentinel.”  
Abelas smiled. “I do not fear for it. I am leaving it in the care of better guardians than I. Mythal lanaste, lethallan.”  
“Dareth shiral, falon.” She clasped his hand with her own. It was the last moment of quiet before the Veil’s fall.

She’d gone to write a series of hasty messages. One to Varric, one to the Divine, one to Dorian, another to Sera, hoping they could shield their people. He disliked the near panic he could see building in her, disliked the idea of the anchor flaring while they were parted even more. But he had his own tasks and reluctantly agreed to leave her in the rookery after a last attempt to stabilize the anchor. Though he dispatched Sevren immediately, there was little hope the Legion and Wardens would arrive before nightfall, even using the eluvians. _A few days, I can hold the anchor until then. As long as she is with me._ Another half lie. Another baseless hope. He kept repeating it to himself anyway. Around him was heavy movement, the electric charge of his people readying themselves. The deep thrum of magic as barriers were created and the pungent scent of elfroot cooking as the apothecary prepared potions and bandages. Andruil’s temple was packed when he arrived. A tight circle of elves hovered around the seal, muscles tensed and weapons ready. He quietly greeted as many as he could. 

“Do not exhaust yourselves needlessly,” he told them. “It will take time for the Evanuris to realize the Veil is gone. And they have many miles of Deep Roads to cross before they will reach Arlathan. You have been well trained. You know this world better than they ever will. And you are _free_. I cannot promise you victory in this battle, but you are better prepared to face them than even my oldest friends. If anyone can banish the Evanuris for good, it will be you. What aid I can give you will not be withheld. And among you walk thousands of spirits. You will see your own strength within hours.”  
“And if they turn against us? These spirits— why should they ally with us?” The woman glanced over her shoulder as if she’d see an ethereal army standing just behind her.  
“Because all of this time, they have been watching. What you have struggled to do. Who you’ve become. How you live. They are equally uneasy that you will turn upon them. Some will not aid you, that is true. Just as some of our own people have chosen not to aid us. But spirits have long memories. And _you_ , lethallan, you have shorter lives than they. You are not your ancestors. The Evanuris have proved what they are willing to do to us all in their grasping for more power. There is hope, yet, for us. A chance to live in peace. The Evanuris are not as your stories say. Neither are spirits what the Chantry preaches. Do not let fear color the future.”

A low murmur erupted from somewhere in the depths of the crowd and it slowly parted. Abelas emerged from the people, the sharp, stark arrows of Andruil on his brow. Stranger still than the new vallaslin was the ancient armor of one of Andruil’s hunters. Solas fought the immediate repulsion the sight caused. It wasn’t Abelas that had caused the stir. He walked calmly through the crowd, bidding farewell to many. The Inquisitor was behind him, far back in the doorway. It was her, the sickly green glow that pulsed from her face, that made people scatter, giving her a wide empty path. It saddened him to see. _Still in that sacred, uncrossable space,_ he thought. She pretended not to notice as others flinched and stepped back. He met her, taking her hand.   
“I should stay here,” she said. “We don’t know what will happen. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”  
“He made an oath.” A familiar voice slid quietly over her shoulder. She twisted her face to look. “You would never be one against all. He let you bind him long ago. He never wants to be free of it.”  
“Cole,” she cried. The boy’s hat tilted up as he climbed the temple steps.

“Oh— it _hurts_ ,” he said, touching her shoulder. “It was quieter from the Fade. Needing doesn’t mean knowing, but someday they will. When all the green is gone from their eyes, they’ll see _you_ again. Just as Solas does.”  
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”  
“It matters,” said Solas, “even if it doesn’t alter our path.”  
Cole smiled. “You understand! I worried.”  
“I know. It has been a hard-learned lesson. I’m glad you’re here, Cole.”  
“I promised I would come. They are ready. Waiting. Pressing against the Veil.” He looked around at the mass of people. “It will be very crowded. And loud. So many voices.”  
The Inquisitor gently pulled free of his hand. “I should go. I’ll wait at the eidolon—”  
“Stay,” said Solas. “I won’t let the anchor overtake you.”  
“The anchor will help. Without it, the spell would cost too much. Even for him. It would take him time, even without the Veil, to recover and to send Abelas.” Cole pressed a hand to her heart. “You can’t wait.”  
Dread crawled up Solas’s spine. _Is the end so close?_ Cole nodded without looking at him.   
“You think it will be safe?” she asked. “I am afraid my spell will break.”  
“If it breaks, I will take you far away. Slip deep through the Fade before the magic spills out. I _promise_.”   
She hesitated and looked down at the dagger in his belt. “Yes,” answered Cole. “If I must. But it won’t come to that.” The boy took her hand and placed it back into Solas’s. “Not one against all. Not two against many. All of us together.” 

Abelas found them, emerging from the dark temple. “I am prepared,” he said.  
“As am I.” Solas passed the amulet over Abelas’s head. “There is an amplifier at the old boundary. It will give you the best chance to slip in unnoticed.”  
Abelas looked back to the temple.  
“They are happy for you,” offered Cole, squinting in the bright sun. “They are sad to part, but glad that you take something of them with you. Glad that someone will remember what was done here. How they lived. What they loved.”  
“Let us have it over then. I have spent too many centuries waiting,” said Abelas and led them over the gray plain.  
The amplifier was dark and moveless, standing alone in the barren field. The Inquisitor and Sevren had paced it out as close to the ancient maps as possible before placing it. Solas could clearly hear the grinding rotation and the pulsing glow of the original in his mind, the one that had sat atop his tower, now shattered somewhere in the foundations of Skyhold. How the center of his stomach had cramped just before he cast, how an echo of every argument about the Veil had echoed in his mind. And now— silence and the cool wind across the ruined landscape. The Inquisitor released his hand. She placed hers upon the amplifier and shut her eyes. The anchor surged and the amplifier began to spin.   
He had a moment of panic, irrational and fleeting, that he had forgotten the spell.

“Be calm Solas.” The echo of Wisdom’s voice was strong in his memory. “Clear your mind. Remember, the antidote is often in the poison.”  
He began, the others standing motionless beside him, small clouds of breath warming the air in front of them. Cole had been right, the spell wicked his strength with alarming swiftness. He wavered and the Inquisitor offered him her hand. He grasped it, pulling from the anchor. The pulse as it traveled through the amplifier caused him to stumble back. She caught him even as Abelas reached to steady him. The colors returned first, a bubble of shifting tones expanding above them. The Inquisitor stared at Cole and reached to touch him, forgetting her arm was not there. She cried out as the Veil dissolved around her and a translucent limb erupted from her shoulder. Cole laughed and brought his face to the not-quite-solid hand.  
“It’s you,” he said. “What you wish. What ought to be.”  
“If it is so easy,” she said, trailing the hand over him. “Then why all the hardship?”  
“Because it does not belong just to you,” said Abelas. “How much you control depends upon your mastery of the Fade. In your hands it does good. In another’s—” he broke off. “Well, that is what I am meant to prevent. This is a happy moment. One long awaited. No deed has been wasted, lethallan. We have been so long sundered. It will take time to remember what it is to be whole.”

Solas felt as if he were sliding into warm water. Filled from deep in his bones to tips of his ears. He could see its effect on her, as well, a deep drawing, like breath. She was stronger. He could see the ward in her chest more solidly, could feel that old pull again of her always seeking him out. He had forgotten how much he missed it.  
“Look,” said Cole, “They’ve come to see.”   
Solas turned to see a mass of lights hovering and shifting. The Inquisitor took a step toward them and halted. “They’re spirits, Vhenan, they are only curious. They will not harm you,” he said.  
“I don’t wish to hurt _them_ ,” she said.  
“Then you won’t. Your intention determines their reaction. And they are better able to preserve themselves now.”  
“More like me,” said Cole.   
“Yes,” agreed Solas. The anchor pulsed weakly in her face. It was returning already. Cole looked back at him.  
“The dam has broken. The flood is coming, Solas,” he said sadly.  
She turned back in alarm, but he was already clasping Abelas’s arm. “Bre serannas. Dareth shiral.”  
Abelas smiled. “Tel’glan. Ma lasa em tuast melin. Dareth shiral.”  
Solas touched the amulet, the spell sparking along its edge. It rippled outward, enveloping the sentinel in an instant of jade light and then he was gone.

“I can’t feel him anymore,” said Cole. “He was _happy_. He wanted you to know.”  
“Thank you, Cole,” said Solas. He leaned heavily upon the Inquisitor. He felt the gentle flow of her magic searching him for injury.  
“Weary and worn. All the magic flung far like seeds. It will take time to root and gather again,” Cole told her, offering Solas his shoulder in addition.   
“All is well, my love,” Solas reassured her. “Bad hips, you know.”  
It won him a worried smile. It was enough.


	108. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rpeJAOZlLfw&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&index=92

At first, it was only a gentle tug in the back of his mind. Lost in the combination of relief and exhaustion at finally having it done. Regardless of the outcome, the task was finished. No longer would he be haunted by eternal doubts and questions. No longer would he have to force himself along the path with worn out arguments of duty and obligation. Or waver and ache for what _might_ be. What could never have been. Not truly. The decision was made, the possibilities narrowed to just this one. The Veil was gone. Nothing could bring it back, not even himself. Abelas, too, was gone, and the hope of altering that other world with him. What happened to it was out of Solas’s control. He was stuck in this dying land, trapped in a desperate battle that could only lead to his death.  
It was done. He’d never felt more free.

So he ignored it at first, that growing niggling fear beneath it all. It wasn’t his. And at first, he didn’t much care to investigate it. He pulled heavily from the anchor in the Inquisitor’s skin and watched as old friends drew closer to them, hovering between curiosity and caution. But it grew, gnawed its way into his consciousness as they stumbled slowly across the large plain between themselves and the temple. It prickled and then pressed, a heavy, jagged weight across his chest. He glanced at Cole who shook his head. And then at the Inquisitor. The muscle in her jaw fluttered and she stared straight ahead at the temple, oblivious to the changes around her. It was _her_ fear. _Terror_ , he corrected himself. It was surprising. She had been so— _ready_. Had seemed to understand, to empathize when he’d told her about spirits, about what contact with them would mean. If he’d miscalculated with _her_ , how much worse would others be? How hostile would his own people be, even with all the preparations they’d made?  
“It isn’t _us_ ,” mumbled Cole.  
“What isn’t us?” asked the Inquisitor, still staring at the temple ahead.   
“What scares you,” said Cole. She pulled them all to a stop and looked over at him.  
“Of course not, Cole. Did I make you think that? I’m sorry— I forgot this would happen. I’m not used to my feelings not being— entirely my own.” She was flustered, blushing deeply, but still that terror pulsed behind it, threatening to crush them. It was drawing some spirits and driving others away. 

“What frightens you, Vhenan?” asked Solas. She was trying to push more power into him, now that she found herself more capable of holding the ward. It was an odd, full sensation, as if he’d suddenly drunk too much water after being too long parched.  
“How exhausted you are. What this has done to you,” she said. “I have never seen you so drained. And you have all the Fade at your fingertips. It is still not enough.”  
He smiled, forced himself upright, though everything ached in protest. “I am unharmed. It was much less taxing undoing the spell than it was originally casting it. A short rest is all I require. When it is time to depart, I will be ready.”  
A sudden acidic tinge of sorrow pooling between them. “ _How_?” she cried. “You slept for centuries to regain your strength last time. We have only a few hours before the others arrive. You will never fully recover from this.”  
He released Cole’s shoulder and traced the anchor across her temple. “I don’t need to fully recover, my love. There are only a few spells remaining. I am able, already, for those. Without the Veil, it is not as difficult to find what is needed. And with your aid, it is enough.” She had to hold him up as he kissed her, but he could already feel her fear slowly dissipating. “ _You_ are enough.”  
She shook her head.  
“ _Yes_ ,” he insisted. “All this time, you have never grasped for more power, not even in your direst need. Do not abandon that now, not for me. I do not need more. I don’t wish for more. This is enough to finish it.”  
“It won’t. The Evanuris will remain— some of the darkspawn. Even in my wildest imaginings I never expected to defeat them all. Our friends will—”  
“They will fight their own battles. Just as they would have done originally.” He pressed his forehead to hers. Closed his eyes. “No one saves the world alone, Vhenan. How often have you told me so? This last piece— it is enough to give them a chance. One more push. And then _rest_. With you. My ar’an ane revas.”  
She took a shuddering breath and nodded against him. He kissed her forehead, pushed himself upright. Cole reached his arm around Solas’s back again and he sagged into it. “Good,” he breathed, and pressed forward toward the temple again. “All will be well. Now, emma lath, we must show them warrior saints again. Once more. No matter how I tried to prepare the way, it will be bewildering to them. They are frightened.”  
“Are you?” she asked.  
“Yes,” said Cole, “He is afraid of you, all moss-green light and pain.”  
“Cole—” started Solas.  
“Afraid of failing you. Of his magic utterly swallowing you. Of another Evanuris finding you. Using you. Of many things.”  
“This cannot help her,” he said.  
“But it does,” she said. “Selfish, I know. I cannot help it. Knowing you worry— lessens the weight of it all. Just a little.”  
“Does it truly?”   
“More than you know.”  
He watched her face, looking for the lie but did not see it there.  
“I told you, long ago,” said Cole softly. “Taproots. Not leaves.”

“Ir abelas, lanaste. Ar enan felasil.”  
Cole frowned. “Not a fool. Used to spirits. It is easier when people always react the way you expect. When they only have one nature. I did not understand the masks at first. A _spirit_ may not change its nature just by wishing, Solas, but you do. You said she was made up of a thousand dreams. You all are. It is confusing to untangle them enough to follow one strand, one dream. You expect her— and the others— to react with fear to your own worries, because that is what a spirit would do. Sometimes, the people here want a mask. A god and a wolf and an Inquisitor. But now they know the mask is hollow. And all they want is the warmth beneath.”  
A cluster of wisps swirled around them, coloring gold and scarlet. Cole stopped to smile.   
“Should we give them something? Say something?” asked the Inquisitor.  
“No. They only want you to know they remember you,” said Cole. “Something beautiful you did.”  
Solas could barely make out the faint shapes of leaves among them. “It is rare, for them to remember,” he said, letting her go to reach out to a scarlet wisp hovering over her shoulder. “There are few who can long endure contact with us before they must forget or lose themselves.” He let the wisp settle into his palm. It warmed his skin a moment before swooping off toward the temple, followed by its kin.  
“Is that— did Wisdom forget? Is that what happened to her?”  
“Yes.” He scanned the ethereal forms that clustered at the edge of the plain, watching them approach. “I confess I’d hoped— but it was a foolish hope. Even should Wisdom have returned to itself, it will not remember me. And likely avoid this place. It will take time for most to emerge from the depths of the Fade. For them to trust that they will not be harmed. Only the boldest or the ones who remember what we once were have come here. I regret—” He broke off. Swallowed the wish.  
“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her palm gently against his back.  
“It is enough to know they may return, after all this time.”

Cole shifted beside him, twisting his hands together. “I must go,” he said. The Inquisitor leaned to look past Solas.   
“Is something wrong?” She asked. “Are you hurting?”  
“No. But the Wardens are near. They are frightened. I can help. There is little time.”  
Solas nodded. “Thank you, Cole.”  
Cole caught his hand for a moment. “I _will_ return. You won’t be alone against all the Blight.” He slipped away, a blur across the plain. The Inquisitor stared after him, unused to seeing his movement.   
“Come, Vhenan,” he said, reluctantly jarring her from the wonder of seeing what had so long lain hidden. “We are almost there, and I would ease the fear of the others if I can.”  
She nodded and tightened her grip on him.

The temple was cold and prickling with their unease. He could feel the unmanifested spirits lingering behind him as they entered, seeking some shelter he could no longer provide. The sizzle of uncontrolled magic roiled beneath, frost creeping down the spears of some of the soldiers, a burst of flame and startled cries scattered across the temple. The few mages among them moved from elf to elf, trying to calm them and quickly teach their fellows how to rein in the sudden surge of power. He released the Inquisitor and leaned against the wall, hoping to calm them. “It’s all right, lethallen,” he called to them. “There is no real danger here. We have time.” His voice rang out across the stone with a confidence he did not feel. But it had the desired effect as the others turned toward him. Still, panic was plain on many faces. He had a pang of sympathy for Sera. He hoped Vhemanen was helping her. “You are only reaching another part of what was already there. This is nothing foreign,” he told them. “Like the beat of your heart or the expansion of your breath. You are in control of it. Focus on the tingling in your fingertips.” He grasped a woman’s hand that was aflame. “Hamin,” he said gently, “Use your will to direct it. I will not let it harm you.” The flame guttered after a few seconds and went out. “Good. Take a breath, and then try to ignite it again.” The woman glanced up at him and then back at her hand. A spark at her fingertips. They shook and he could feel her struggling to force her mana in the correct direction. He could hear the Inquisitor speaking softly to someone nearby and the zap of Feynriel’s barrier. The woman tried again, another spark and then a small flame. “Excellent,” he told her.  
“Thank you,” she said, and burst into tears. He pressed his hand into hers.

“You are in no danger, lethallan,” he said. “Not now. I will shield you as long as I may.”  
“Ir abelas,” she said, “I was happy when you sent them away. The children. My parents. They didn’t belong here. But now— who will teach them this? Who will comfort them? Perhaps I should have kept them with me. At least we would be together.”  
 _I’m sorry, lethallan_ , he thought, a deep stab of pity dragging through his chest. “Vhemanen and Ilan will help them,” he said aloud, “They are in good hands.”  
The woman looked up at him. “But they are not _my_ hands. They are not their daughter’s hands. They are not the hands of my children’s mother.”  
A warmth at his shoulder distracted him.  
“Ar dara,” said a familiar voice. “Ajua la’var ash.”   
He turned slightly, recognized his old friend immediately. “Ma serranas, falon.”  
The spirit solidified into a mirror image of the woman. “Who is this?” she asked nervously.  
“A friend. A spirit of faith. It has offered to go to Skyhold in your place. To care for your family as you would do. It was never meant to engage in battle. It will not last long here. But it wishes to be of comfort to you. If you agree.”  
She looked at the spirit in silence. At last she asked, “Why?”  
“I have watched you many months, da’len, though you did not know it,” Faith answered. “Your trust in your people, in your task, has been strong. Even now, when you fear for your kin, you are unwavering. If I can aid you, can ease your fear, it would please me. I would do it as you would. The stories of the ancient ones, the blessings of the aravel, the offerings you leave for those you know are no longer there. It brings your children comfort. And when they are ready for the truth— that too, just as you had planned.”  
The woman took Faith’s hands. Examined the illusion. “If I don’t return…” she trailed off.  
“I will watch over them in your stead. Time holds little meaning for me. It is not a hardship.”  
She glanced at Solas. “Is it— _safe_?”  
“Yes, lethallan. There is no purpose to deceiving you. It wishes for your blessing. If it had not, it might already have gone.”  
She nodded to the spirit and watched an image of her own face break into a grateful smile. 

Solas felt the prickle of unease gradually decrease from the air as other spirits became bolder in the face of Faith’s success and moved to help. The crackle of magic smoothed, fell into a tamed current that flowed through the temple. Except for the Inquisitor. The anchor’s thrum pressed against them all. He looked for her, finding the large space that was left around her, even as she tried to aid them. As soon as he touched her arm, he could feel her relief. “You should rest,” he told her, pulling her toward a quiet room that had been transformed into a temporary barracks.  
She laughed. “ _You_ should. I was not the one who dispelled the Veil. Even if you had not needed me to return to the temple, I can feel how exhausted you are.”  
He waited until they were out of earshot of the milling crowd of people and spirits. “I cannot sleep, Vhenan, though I admit I long to. The deeper parts of the Fade are lost to me, until the end.”  
“ _Why_? If you are only being stubborn—”  
“I am not. The Evanuris are waking. Perhaps they already have. But they have steeped in lyrium for millennia. Our greatest asset is that they do not know where they are. But should I enter the Fade, they would immediately sense me. I would draw them as inevitably as breath. I _will_ use their hatred to trap them again, but not here. Not where it can harm our friends. At the end, when we have gathered the horde, when there is no time left—” he stopped to touch the glowing cracks of the anchor at her temple. “Only then will I show them where their oldest enemy waits.”  
She shivered. “Let me sit with you, then. We’ll keep each other awake.”  
“No, my love, you will need all your strength. When I have exchanged forms, I will not be able to subdue the anchor. You must be rested so that you may endure.” He sat on the edge of a low cot and pulled her down to sit beside him. “Sleep,” he begged her, “I will keep watch.”   
She yielded, lying quietly beside him. He watched the anchor creep across her face as she slept, rapid enough to be visible, like the growth of a slow frost. She slept until the glow of the anchor filled the dark the setting sun left behind it. The only interruption was the flicker of a few curious wisps that hovered for a moment or two and then departed again. He sat silently beside her feeling every grain of sand drain from the glass.


	109. Mice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NX9xxzL2Iro

Lantern light leaked into the courtyard. Solas could hear the low and frightened voices of a crowd. He peered out into the dusk. They’d brought a wagon. Something bound to it, twisting and writhing. _A dragon_ , he realized. _Is it already infected?_ He stroked the Inquisitor’s cheek and her eyes snapped open. “Is it time?” she asked. The muscle in her jaw pulsed, but she met his gaze without cracking.  
“I believe so, my love.”  
She sat up and stared out at the courtyard. “I admit,” she said, “I had everything planned. The route, the spell, the dragon, the method to hold the anchor as long as possible. I thought it would help to convince you, if I were certain of everything, every variable. Yet, now that we are here— I am uncertain what comes next.” She touched her shoulder where it blazed with light. “Not— the _plan_. I know that. Next comes unraveling the seal while the Legion and Wardens rest. And then the dark and the lyrium. And then you’ll— _go_. I haven’t forgotten. But my mind still searches for some escape. The battle with Corypheus was— sudden. And rapid. There was little time to think during the Inquisition. There is too much time now. For all I wish to extend it.”

He had nothing to offer her. No story that could reach beyond the dread she was feeling. Nothing to combat his own terror. So he pulled her hand into his and simply admitted it. “Yes. There is too much time to think. And never enough to love and to hope and to bid farewell.” He had long ago learned how to mask his feelings. Even without the Veil. It had taken years to learn. She never would. In the wake of the Veil’s fall, it had been instinctual. He’d pulled back, unwilling to add to the fear that thickened the air around them, to the despair that filled the temple. It would only have made it worse. But in the quiet, long after the uneasiness had subsided to a dull, sore, ache, he realized she had begun again to feel alone in her fear. _She thinks I am unaffected,_ he realized. “I’m tired of being the one to walk away,” he said, loosening his control, allowing something of himself to leak into the space between them. He was relieved when she did not flinch. It seemed to have the opposite effect, igniting a burst of warmth and strength from her. She cradled his face, the rough feel of calloused flesh on one side and the solid thrum of will where her missing hand would have been.   
“I’m sorry I cannot act in your stead, emma lath. But you are not walking away. Only ahead. Have faith in me. I will catch up, at last.” She kissed him even as the commotion of the Wardens’ arrival began to penetrate the temple and the dragon roared somewhere nearby. He tried to push away the distraction, to fall into the deep comfort she tried to give him, the humid warmth of her breath, the low pull of her magic, the soft glide of her palm along his cheek. Too sweet and too brief, as all waning things were.  
“One more,” he begged her. “I do not want it to be the last.”  
She pressed her hand to the center of his chest. “It will not be the last kiss,” she whispered, but repeated it anyway. “Ar'an suledin nadas.” She pulled him up with her and led him to the temple seal. He was loath to release her hand, even as she moved to greet Warden Brosca. He let her go at last to clasp Blackwall’s arm. 

“So,” rumbled Blackwall. “You might have told me who you were in Weisshaupt. And why you’d come. Before we chased you through a sea of Qunari.”  
“I might have,” Solas admitted, “though I doubt you would have believed me then. I had my reasons. As I expect, did you. Or you might have told me who you were in Skyhold. Before the trial.”  
Blackwall smoothed his beard, embarassed.  
“Peace,” said Solas, “it is done. There is nothing left for either of us to hide, and no time to worry about what is left to reveal. Let us be friends, Blackwall. Perhaps we may both become the men we once pretended to be, in this last task.”  
He gave a curt nod, but then caught Solas’s arm. “Could you— I am not used to this feeling. It’s a sort of crawling, like a bedroll full of fleas. I haven’t been able to shake it all day. And I— my shield shattered. Frost, I think. It just seeped out of me. Can you stop it?”  
Solas considered. “It would be better if you learned to use it.”  
“Maybe,” admitted Blackwall, “if I meant to live long years yet. Or if I thought it would help us against the darkspawn. But we both know this is a one-way trip. And I’m so— unaccustomed to this, I fear I’ll hesitate in battle instead of making use of it.”  
Solas nodded. “I am sorry,” he said, “this may be unpleasant. Because it is a recent change, I hope it will not be painful.”  
“Go ahead,” said Blackwall. Solas carefully pulled him from the Fade.   
“Are you well?” he asked.  
“Much better,” said Blackwall.  
“It will not last,” said Solas. “It should persist past the—” he waved toward the large beast that had been pulled into the center of the temple. “Past the transformation, but whether it will remain after my death, I am not certain.”  
“From what the Inquisitor has told us, I don’t think that’ll be a problem, Solas,” said Blackwall. The Inquisitor saved them from one another, embracing Blackwall.   
“It is good to see you,” she told him. “You should rest for a few hours. I’ll take you to the barracks.” She led the Wardens and the Legion toward the interior of the temple. 

Feynriel remained with the dragon, holding it in slumber. Solas caught a glimpse of Cole flitting through the quiet bunches of elves, bringing comfort with him. It was a relief to see him there. He considered asking Cole to stay at the temple. Or return to Skyhold.  
The boy popped up from beside a small table where others sat eating. “She already asked,” he said. “I do not wish to be left behind.” He darted toward Solas. “There are many of my kind near now. They’ll help when I am gone.”  
“It’s perilous, Cole.”  
“Yes.”  
“You don’t understand—”  
“I do. Like Haven. You wanted to stay. You knew what it meant. I know, too.”  
“It isn’t the same for spirits—”  
Cole shook his head. “Even you cannot say what happens after. For either of us. I want to be with you. With the Inquisitor and Blackwall. It will _hurt_. I can help.”  
“You can’t. It will hurt whether you are there or not—”  
“I meant _me_ , Solas. It will hurt me to stay here.”  
“Ir abelas, Cole. I have dismissed your advice more than once to my own detriment. If this is truly what you wish— you are, of course, free to choose your own path. I will be— happy to know you are nearby.”  
Cole held out a hand. There was a small cloth wrapped bundle in it. Solas could smell Vhemanen’s cakes without even opening it and smiled. “Are they well?” he asked.  
“Crowded and warm. Sera makes Vhemanen show her the veilfire. Every night. She wants to slap her hand against the blank spaces, leave a memory behind. Wants to keep the Inquisitor company. She is angry to be left behind. But safe. All safe.”   
It was a relief to know that much, at least. He had spared no agents to bring him word from Skyhold. Or Kirkwall, Tevinter, Val Royeaux. He was blind. He’d thought it didn’t matter. Thedas would stand or fall without him either way. His own comfort at Cole’s news surprised him. “You’ve been many miles today,” he told the boy. “You should rest. It will take some time to release the seal. I imagine we will have little opportunity to stop afterward.”  
Cole hesitated, pulled his hat off and fumbled with the bent brim. “Tel’vara, you asked her. She waited for _you_. Every time. Don’t. Not without her. You think it’s a kindness, but it isn’t. She wants another kiss before you leave this form behind.”  
Solas glanced at the dragon again. Cole grabbed his wrist. “One more chance to see you without the red. That’s all she wants.”  
“But if it’s done, she will not have to see this body die,” he protested.  
“And she will punish herself for not being beside you. _Don’t_.”  
“Very well. I will wait.”  
The boy grabbed the wolf jaw that still hung from Solas’s neck. “Promise.”  
Solas closed his hand around it, the broken teeth sharp against his palm and Cole’s hand cold and dry under his fingertips. “I promise, Cole.”  
Cole let him go and wandered off toward the barracks. 

There was only the matter of the seal. And of the people he was leaving behind. He called Feynriel to his side at the edge of the seal. “I wish to show you how to replace the seal after we have passed through.”  
Feynriel paled and a pulse of dread oozed from him. “But should you need to retreat—”  
Solas shook his head. “There is no retreat. Open the seal for no one. I am no longer the only one who can exchange forms. It will not halt the Evanuris, but it will slow them and it will hold the Blight, should we fail.”  
“But if some of the Wardens return or the Legion— if they ask me to release them—”  
“They will not, Feynriel. Not unless they’ve been— taken. These are hardened warriors. They patrol the Deep Roads with no hope of rescue year in and year out. And they understand what is at risk at their backs. They will not retreat. They will stand until the end. And if they cannot— weigh what you protect against their plea. If you release the seal, whatever comes through brings ruin with it. You do not risk only yourself.”  
He stared at the seal. “I understand,” he said at last.  
“Good,” said Solas. “Remember my actions so you may reverse them after we’ve gone. Replacing the seal will drain you, even now. It will take several days to recover. You must trust others to guard you in that time. Dorian Pavus leads an army from the Imperium. I cannot tell you to trust Tevinter, but Dorian will be a fast friend. Some spirits have already grown bold and stand ready to aid you— more will come. Remember your experiences in the Fade. Not everyone will understand how to interact with them. They need your protection as much as you need theirs. I will try to draw the danger away— but I don’t know if I will be entirely successful. Even after all this time, I am unsure if the Evanuris’ hatred for me will outweigh their desire to regain this world. You must be prepared.”  
“We are. As prepared as we can be, anyway.”  
“Yes. You have trained well. The Evanuris will expect you to be like the elves they once knew. Slaves or sycophants, ready to bow like ripe grain before them. They will think of you as I once did. Lesser shadows of what we once were. Shock them, Feynriel. As you did me. Show them what strength those shadows hide. For it is more powerful than even the weapon they once craved.”  
The Inquisitor emerged from the barracks with Cole. “We are short on time,” said Solas. “And you’ve long grown out of any lesson I could impart.” He began the spell.

It was nearly dawn when he had finished. Feynriel had watched intently and Solas had him retrace the most intricate points without engaging his magic. It was enough. He was exhausted and shaky, leaning upon the Inquisitor and soaking up the power from the anchor as quickly as he could. It had reached the interior of one of her eyes, threading through the iris. But the ward in her chest remained unwavering. He could only hope her mind would last as long as her heart. She stared into the pulsing red tunnel that gaped open after the seal broke apart. He could hear the lyrium’s intense melody and could see her discomfort with it. He brushed his lips against her ear. “If only I could fill your mind with a sweeter sound,” he whispered. “The rush of the falls over the rocks of Skyhold, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer in the Undercroft, the voices of the Chargers in the tavern.”   
She smiled and an aching wave of love rolled from her and into him. “You have only to keep speaking then, sweet talker,” she whispered back. But her smile faded as the lyrium’s insistent song pressed against them. “We should go. Let Feynriel replace the seal. It isn’t just mages who can hear it now. I won’t be the only one going slowly mad if we leave it open.”  
“I know,” he admitted. “I only wished to have a few more breaths with you. I would not miss a single one. Even those at the edge of doom.”  
She reached up to caress his cheek and a few tears escaped her. “They are all gone, emma lath. The flood is here. It’s time.”  
He nodded and pressed her hand to his skin with a deep breath. Cole had already gone to wake the Wardens and the Legion of the Dead. His own people gathered around them, making only a small circle around the bound dragon. He could feel a mass of spirits among them, though many chose not to take form. “You should tell them something,” Lavellan whispered.  
“There is nothing left to say.”  
“They are frightened. Can you feel it?”  
“Yes. I am frightened, too,” he admitted.  
“We are asking them to face gods, Solas. You told me once we must give them a champion who is already divine. Lend them the courage we do not have.”

He turned to the others, watching them as the Legion filed by him and the Wardens wheeled the dragon’s squeaking wagon into the ruby tunnel. Five years prior, he wouldn’t have bothered recruiting two thirds of them. He’d have kept his forces small and insular, only the immortals, those he had considered his own people. Before the Breach, he’d have seen them as puppets to be set to a task. Beasts of burden. _Mouselings_ , he thought as the Inquisitor’s hand slid around his. As he’d come to understand his mistake, he sought them out. The hurting ones. The cast out ones. The slaves. As he had so long ago. Still— he had thought it a hopeless attempt. A way to save that other world, the one that would never have them in it. Two years before, he’d believed they were fated to fall to the Blight, even as they grew stronger and more capable. Even as he caught glimmers of hope in Abelas. Their fates were still likely dire, even with the Inquisitor’s plan. Even if all of Thedas joined them. But he no longer despaired. It would be a hard battle for the Evanuris to win. And oh, how he wished he could witness it.  
“Would-be gods never fall gracefully,” he told them. “The Evanuris will be no different. They have long forgotten that they are no more invulnerable than you. They have steeped in red lyrium for centuries. It makes them powerful, yes, but it has also driven them mad. They no longer know Elvhenan. They no longer know you, even those of you who saw them at the height of their reign. You cannot win this battle by skill alone. But what you know of this world, the wisdom you carry from the sum of your lives, the kindness you have for one another— the Evanuris will never understand it. These things that they value least, these are what will save you.” He glanced at the Inquisitor, who squeezed his fingers and filled his chest with another full, bursting pulse of love. “I thought of you as mice once. Mice dashing through a battlefield, perpetually in danger of being crushed by something much larger than you. I thought it made you— weak. I was wrong. Be _mice_ again. Gnaw away the roots of their power. Evade their notice as long as you may and steal opportunities to strike. Remember Tarasyl’an Te’las and the Arbor Wilds. The enemy will be reluctant to enter the strongholds of their old foes, even if we are not present. You will be safe there, should you need to retreat. You are _free_ elvhen. Do not forget. May you never again submit to their rule. Nuva ma ema enasalin, ma’falon’en.”  
The Inquisitor pulled him gently into the mouth of the tunnel. “Dareth Shiral,” said Feynriel behind him. His hands were already moving in the spell to replace the seal. _It will not be safe_ , Solas thought, but kept his silence. He turned from them with the Inquisitor, followng the Gray Wardens into the depths of his dim, scarlet tomb.


	110. Shedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cood1ZBDTkk&index=90&list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3-4dPYHFO0zhP2AM2qhQa5&t=0s

“Bloody whine is driving me up the wall,” growled Blackwall, shattering several crystals with the flat of his blade.   
“It’s like the dreams after the Joining,” agreed Brosca. “Except worse. It’s Stone song gone sour.”  
“The King sent us to aid Kal-Sharok last year in pushing back the Qunari,” said one of the Legion dwarves, shoving his shield against the red walls and crushing the smaller crystals. “They’d found the infection in one of their roads. Studied it. It shouldn’t sing, they told me. The Stone was dead in Kal-Sharok, it’d been dead for centuries. Even the lyrium couldn’t be heard. Not the way we hear it, anyway.” He grunted, slammed his shield into a large growth. “But it sang, just the same. They were excited. Thought it meant their Stone would be reborn. They were trying to grow more of it when we left. Half-wonder if that’s where the topsiders got the idea.”  
“Unlikely,” said Solas, wincing as a shard cut his heel. It mattered little. “The magisters drew it first from here and have been attempting to use it since the first Blight. It is worrisome that Kal-Sharok is encouraging its spread. But—” he sighed, “It is too late for us to intervene now. We must hope that our friends will discover it before our work is undone.”  
“Maybe they’ll cure it,” said the Inquisitor. “Maybe it really will bring back their Titan. And they’ll use what you found to heal the red lyrium.”  
On any other day, he might have argued with her. He might have doubted and pointed out the likelihood that the dwarves of Kal-Sharok would only infect themselves in addition to the corpse of their Titan. But so close to the end, he could not begrudge her optimism. He couldn’t bring himself to think realistically. Or at least— he couldn’t bring himself to speak it aloud. “Perhaps you’re right, Vhenan,” he said instead, kissing her hand. 

The air was damp and chilled, but buzzed with the lyrium. It made Solas’s skin prickle uncomfortably. The footings of the temple and the evidence of elven masons had long since dwindled away, leaving only the large empty tunnels. There had likely been no living presence here since Corypheus had brought the lyrium back. Darkspawn, certainly. Long slashes from claws interspersed the crystals that jutted from the walls, and the stench of old decay still lingered. But they saw none. Not until they’d descended to the massive cliff that ran along the edge of a ruby desert plain below.   
“This is it,” said the Inquisitor as the dragon was wheeled to a stop and the large company stood peering over the edge. The song of the lyrium was overwhelming here, the glow like the living fire of an active volcano below them and shadows writhed like moving clouds over the surface of the plain. Cole moved quickly, slipping a journal from the Inquisitor’s pack and spreading it before them. “Thank you, Cole,” she said with a sad smile, and held a corner of her map with her remaining hand. “There is a road down to the plain— here. But Andruil’s remaining records seem to hint at that peak—” she raised her hand, pointing to a distant hill. It pulsed and glowed. “That is Anaris’s stronghold. That is the source of the Blight, if there ever was one. The darkspawn must be thick across this entire area.”  
Blackwall whistled low. “There are— thousands.”  
“Those are just the ones we can see,” said Brosca.   
“Aye,” said one of the dwarves. “You could fit the whole of Orzammar down there— but it’s the tunnels where they’ll group tightest. We’re seeing only the tip of the lode. There’s no way we can defeat them. It’s madness. Even in our heyday the Legion would never be able to take on so many. Nor the Wardens. It’s slaughter.”  
“That isn’t our task,” said a woman beside him. “Our task is to get the Inquisitor to that peak. The archdemon draws the darkspawn and we cut a path through the remainder to get her there.”  
“We’ll be dead before we get halfway, Sigrun.”  
“We’re the Legion,” she said. “Already dead anyway. This is what we swore to do. If this is where we return to the Stone— well, our Thaigs were all one once, weren’t they? All things flow back to the dust.”  
Brosca laughed. “Ever the optimist,” she said. “You aren’t allowed to die without me. Not until the mountain.” She called back to a small cluster of Wardens. “Bring the beast. It’s time.” She glanced at the Inquisitor who was staring intently at the map. Solas watched a drop of water splash onto the rough page, slithering through the ink. “Do you— want to do this privately?” Brosca asked.   
“Please,” answered Solas. “It will make the spell— easier to complete.”   
The Warden nodded. The dragon was brought to a halt a the edge of the cliff. Blackwall handed the Inquisitor a knife. “For the ropes, when you’re ready. They’re enchanted. Solas— won’t be able to break them without your help.” He gave Cole a wooden bowl and a large vial. “For the— the Blight. So he can draw them.” Cole took it with a frown but did not protest. He turned to Solas and clasped his arm. “I’ll get her there,” he said. “I swear it.”  
“I know you will, Warden,” said Solas. “Thank you.”  
“Maker— or— _something_ watch over you.”  
“An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. Within My creation, none are alone.”   
Blackwall nodded. “You’d think, knowing what I do, that it wouldn’t help, hearing that. But it does.” He let Solas’s arm go and followed the other Wardens and the Legion down the long road toward the valley. 

It left only Cole and the Inquisitor standing before the massive beast. “I wish to stay,” said Cole. “She will not be able to hear you without me. She’ll be alone—”  
The Inquisitor shook with a low sob.  
“Of course, Cole. I am glad you are here for this,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. She could not look at him. “It is only changing a mask, Vhenan,” he whispered, “I will still be me. And I will ever love you. A little longer, and then all the masks will be gone. All the pain and fear and sorrow behind us.”  
She reached for his face. “I worry about what it will leave in its wake,” she said, her fingers resting on his cheek.   
“Only love. Only peace.” He pressed her into him, trying to imprint the shape of her into his memory. “Ar _lath_ ma, Vhenan.”  
“Say it again, once more,” she said, her voice wavering beside his ear.  
He pulled back to look at her. “I love you. Long after this body. Long after this world. Until even the Fade releases your memory and crumbles away.” He brushed the tears from her face and kissed her, pulling one last time from the anchor, buying her as many breaths as he could.  
“Whatever happens— even should we fail, my happiest days have been with _you_ , Solas, just as you are,” she said. “If I had it in my power to return that joy to you—”  
“You _do_ ,” he insisted. “You have.”  
“Ar lath ma,” she said. He leaned into her, closed his eyes and reached out for the beast’s mind. Delaying would only draw out their misery.  
There was resistance, the beast did not want him. It threatened him with images of violence and flame. He tried to reassure it, redoubling the spell, sending it thoughts. Of protection. Of battling darkspawn. Of shielding its clutch of eggs. The beast subsided at last. Solas felt a yank and then— 

Heavy. He was so heavy. Things bit at him and massive muscles ached and strained against the biting bonds.   
The Inquisitor’s voice cried out in anguish and he twisted his head, marveling at the strange colors the beast saw. She was crackling with light, gold and green, struggling to hold on to his sagging body. It was disorienting, seeing his own empty flesh. More disturbing even than seeing himself in the veilfire memories or in the paintings they made of his stories. It might have distressed him, had her grief not crushed him. He strained against the ropes, craning to reach her. She had not looked up at him. He called out and it erupted in a hissing roar. _Felasil,_ he told himself, _you have a dragon’s tongue now_. Cole helped her place his body on the dirt. She brushed his dead face, still ignoring the dragon.  
“He’s safe,” said Cole softly. “Just somewhere else is all.” She nodded and looked up at last, but did not release her hold on the corpse.  
 _I should destroy it. Release her from her protection of it._ He twisted his head slowly toward Cole. The boy nodded.  
“He wants you to let go, Inquisitor. Put his body down.”  
“But I can’t— just leave him here. Something will hurt him. Or—” she shuddered. “Consume him.”  
“It isn’t him,” said Cole. “Just like me. I’m not— Cole. Just inside him. But I’m me still. Solas is there.” He pointed toward the dragon. Solas lay down and the ropes slackened slightly. “He wants you to step away. He’ll get rid of it so you don’t have to see.”  
She shook her head. “No, Cole. He’ll need it, when this is done.”  
 _No, Vhenan. No, I’ll never need it again._  
“He isn’t coming back. He doesn’t want to.”  
She stared down at his corpse. Solas thought they were at an impasse. She would not leave it and he could not do this without her. It was not a weakness he had anticipated.  
 _What would she tell me if I were in her shoes?_ He wondered. _What story, what truth, what lie would she use to make me release her?_ He growled in frustration. She didn’t look up.  
 _Vir sulevanin,_ he thought. _A life for a life. Tell her, Cole. Tell her ‘vir sulevanin’. I release what is most precious. It is her turn._  
“I don’t think she’ll—” started Cole.  
 _Tell her._  
“He says, ‘Vir sulevanin’. He has done a great service in your name. You cannot refuse him. This is the payment. You must let him go. You must go on so that he can, too.”  
She sobbed, but her hands slid away from his body and she rose, stepping away. Cole reached down and took the jawbone pendant.  
“You can’t— he loved it,” protested the Inquisitor.  
“He does,” said Cole. “He wants it with him. Not this part—” he untied the jawbone, discarding it. “Only you. Only the memory of you.” Cole approached him, tying the leather band around one scaled forearm. The veilfire glimmered. Cole stepped back and grasped the wooden bowl, holding it up to Solas’s snout. “I’m sorry, my friend. It is the only way they will hear you sing.”  
 _Tel’abelas, Cole. It is a poison I have long accepted._ He lapped the spoiled blood. It tasted rotten and stung. The beast’s mind recoiled and lashed out, attempting to struggle. Solas soothed it as well as he could, tightening his control over it. _It is necessary to protect your nest,_ he told it. The sting spread, branching through his neck, arcing through his wings and the dense body. The taint was swift. Solas knew he would not be able to hold his sanity long. A few days perhaps. He hoped it would be enough.  
“You should release him,” said Cole. “The time for you both is shorter and shorter.”  
The Inquisitor took a few steps toward him. He lowered his head toward her and she reached to touch his nose. “Are you in there?” she asked. He nuzzled against her. “Yes,” she answered herself. “I can feel you now, without the Veil.” She stroked his face. “I’ll let you go now. I love you. Don’t forget how I love you, even if the Blight takes everything else.”   
He felt the binds wriggle as she sawed them and then snap free. He stretched tentatively, feeling the odd expansive unfolding of his wings. She stepped back. Cole pulled her farther away. “It’s time to go now,” he said. “You don’t need to see.”   
She looked back at him as Cole led her down the road but didn’t struggle. Solas waited until she was out of sight and then took a deep breath and opened his throat. His body ignited and blackened in moments. He turned away and leaped from the ledge, spreading his wings. He swooped low over the plain before the wind caught and he soared again. The red lyrium’s song was loud and hypnotic. He joined its melody watching as a group of Hurlocks turned as he swung over them. He circled in large arcs as the song poured forth from him and slowly made his way toward the red mountain.


	111. Into the Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1cmzoKKHwU The entire playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqd8PR1UsbL3xenpAS-NAEeywH1S3d1LK

It was difficult to maintain any track of time. The beast’s hunting instinct was altered by the taint of the Blight and Solas’s own idea of time was lost without sun or stars to guide him. He thirsted. And he’d hungered, but pressed it aside, unwilling to follow the beast’s urge to feed upon the darkspawn. He had only to last a few days. Perhaps it had already been days, he did not know. There was water below him, cutting channels through the lyrium crystals, but it, too, would be poisoned. He would not last much longer without drinking though. And his wings were sore. The mountain was close. He would sleep there, and draw the other Evanuris if he could. Before he lost himself utterly. It was already close, the madness that threatened to overtake him. 

He landed after a long struggle against the thirst with a thundering beat of wings. Genlocks tumbled out of the way and then drew close again, craving his music. He ignored them, sloshing into the red water. The water cooled his strained throat even as the rancid taste disgusted him. He lay in the water for a moment, scanning the edges of the valley for a glow of green. He’d kept her in his sights for some time, carefully back tracking to be certain the path was as clear as he could make it, alternating between the song that drew the darkspawn after him and the flame to destroy those he could. But he’d lost sight of her somewhere in an enormous cluster of lyrium. And then he’d forgotten. It distressed him. He wondered for how long. He’d fallen into a semi-trance where the lyrium’s melody and the mountain were all that existed. And suddenly, she’d tugged _hard_ with her magic and he’d realized how lost he’d been. It had been painful at first, that tug. Knowing she hadn’t let him go. Not really. That she likely grieved in silence with only Cole to understand what she felt. If Cole even still lived. If _she_ was even alive. _She’s alive_ , he reminded himself, _the pull is still there_. He knew he was missing pieces of himself. Losing memory and knowledge. Becoming more like the beast he inhabited, becoming more darkspawn than elf. He gripped what remained in desperation. His name. He could remember that. The light of her. The pull of her love. The danger of the Fade. He could no longer recall why the Fade was a threat, but he knew it was. Yet he would enter it soon. Find what waited there. And the mountain. That remained. He had to reach the mountain. And get her to it. He wasn’t certain why. It would not be long before the pull of her was all that tied him to what he had been. He had to hurry. He splashed up out of the water and took to the air again, rejoining the song.

A crystal spine pierced his wing as he tumbled to a landing at the top of the mountain. He roared in pain, felt the sizzle of the tendons tearing. The wing flopped to his side and he lapped at it. All that remained was exhaustion and the tug in his chest. _Important, the yank is important. Why?_ He pushed it aside. Food. Then sleep.   
Prey was attracted by his tune. He waited until they clambered up the mountain’s crest and then slashed at the crawling figures. They kept arriving anyway. He crunched them between his massive teeth and ate until he was gorged. The cleaned bones were easily arranged into a protected nest. He crawled inside and slept.  
They found him easily. Within moments. Towering figures of scarlet that chimed and crunched as they moved. Seven, in a circle around him. He feared them but did not know why. The sounds they made were familiar, but he could not understand. He taunted them, hoping they would follow. Had to protect the light. Had to keep them close to him, away from everything else. It mattered. He wasn’t certain why. He roared as he woke and found himself again on the mountain. He looked for the light. The light was important. He had to draw the light here. He sang, hoping to lure it closer. The tug in his chest was strong. 

All that came was more prey. More and more prey. He started to hear them. They feared him. Worshipped him. He made them bring him water. Kept them close. Told them to bring the light. The ones he sent to look for it did not return. He sang to bring more.

A figure in red had climbed the mountain. All in crystal. Buzzing with his song. It was a dangerous thing. He wanted it gone, but the prey refused to attack it. Its song was louder than his. But it didn’t want to take the prey. Only him. He didn’t understand the noises it made and slashed at it. It shot crystals into him. They bounced from his scales. He roared and blew fire at it. It did not flinch. He tried singing. It was not drawn. It drew a scarlet blade. The shape recalled something. Just a piece. A leaf. _What is a leaf_? He wondered, staring at it. _A sharp leaf. Scarlet like the one that floated down into her hair—_ the memory drifted away even as he clutched at it. The blade-leaf stabbed and he lumbered out of the way. He should fly. Sing and fly away from here. Take his prey-things somewhere safer. He tried and flopped sideways as his tattered wing failed. He snarled as the blade-leaf stabbed again and snapped his teeth around the red figure. It crunched between his jaws.   
_“You aren’t that kind of wolf”_ The voice was clear, but he did not remember whose it was. _Wolf? Is it like a leaf?_ The blade-leaf twisted and pierced his jaw. It burned and he jerked away, gushing blood. His song gurgled. He slashed with his claws and the red thing stumbled. He staggered back to the bone nest, hoping to rest. 

The bones tumbled around him, clattering and flying apart. The blade-leaf was back. He looked up, sluggish, at the red thing. He was dying. He should wait. Wait for the light. But he could not. The blade-leaf rose. There was noise, a clash of metal and the sizzle of magic on the side of the hill. The red thing turned. He didn’t bother to move. It would be back. It did not matter if the prey fought themselves now.   
The red thing took a few steps toward the sound. And then— the light. Green. Green like youth. He’d been young once. And soft. Softer than this. Green like forests, where this body had found a mate. Green like spring when he’d brought prey to the clutch his mate guarded. The red thing brandished the blade-leaf toward the light and he launched himself up, crunching the red thing between his teeth again. The crystals smashed and he felt soft flesh beneath. Spoiled and ancient. Fragile. He bit harder. The blade-leaf stabbed his chest.   
“Solas!”  
He recognized the word, the voice. That had been his, once. All of it. The name, the voice, the light. All his. He slid sideways, the blade-leaf stuck in his rib. Flame burst out of the hole where his lungs blew it forth. The voice that had belonged in his heart was shouting. He didn’t understand. The light grew brighter. Painful. It throbbed like a heartbeat, growing stronger as his began to fade. The red-thing was shrieking. He pushed at it. It was blocking the light. His light. He let his massive head droop. Tired. So tired. His eyes closed. The light was so bright it leaked through. Something cool upon his face. And then a yank. The blade-leaf was gone and the cool was there, too. Like water. Like summer rivers all drenched in light and he was swimming.  
“Ar lath ma, Solas,” the voice said. And he remembered. The light burned all the poison away. Burned _him_ away, until he was weightless, a leaf floating from the tree.

 

Quiet. So quiet after the lyrium. So quiet after the madness of the darkspawn. And clean. The acrid taste of the Blight and rotting prey finally gone. Not prey. Darkspawn. Disgusting, what he had become. She had seen him that way. She had seen what he did. The nest of bones— Andruil in her scarlet armor, had Andruil killed her? No. The anchor. It had been the anchor.  
“Why do you linger in these thoughts, youngling?” someone said.   
The gray mist resolved. He was sitting in the Vir Dirthara. Someone sat across from him. Its form was hazy, indistinct.  
“You have all the Fade before you, all the knowledge and memory of existence waiting for you to discover it, and yet you punish yourself with what you can no longer learn from,” it said.  
“I know you,” he realized.  
“That is unsurprising,” it said, “You have known many of my kind over the course of your life. What is intriguing, though, is that _I_ know _you_. I did not expect to find myself here. Not after what was done to me.” Its form resolved into an elven woman. One he had deeply missed.  
“Wisdom?” he asked, “Is it truly you? Or have you just taken my friend’s form?”  
It laughed. “Would you know? Would I know? If it matters— I believe I am truly what I was when last we spoke. Compassion thought it would make you happy to see me when you came home. I agreed as it was— otherwise occupied.”  
“Compassion— Cole. He survived?”  
“If you mean in the human form that you would recognize— no. He was with Lavellan to the end. Though she asked him to go. Andruil would have killed her before the task was finished otherwise. But Compassion remains. In the same way that I do.”  
Solas stood up, the Vir Dirthara dissolved around them. “The Inquisitor— is she?”  
“Compassion and Mythal are searching for her. The Fade is a large place, my friend. But we have time. We wanted to be certain someone was here to greet you. So that you would not punish yourself as you have been. As you are about to do again,” warned Wisdom. “Don’t. It is fruitless.”  
“But Thedas—”  
Wisdom’s form touched his in affection. “Is beyond our reach. Its fate belongs to others now. Come. I will bring you to Mythal and Compassion. Perhaps they have news.”

They slid through the Fade. It was effortless, even for him, who was used to the slight drag that dreams had caused. They stood at the edge of a large plain. Scarlet aravels rumbled over the uneven ground. Mythal stood watching them as Cole, still looking like the boy Solas knew, leapt from sail to sail, peering into the caravan. He spotted them and appeared beside them in an instant.  
“Solas,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad you’ve come home. I was worried you would try to stay.”   
Mythal turned to them. “It is good to see you, old friend.”  
He embraced her, then Cole, still clinging to the idea of his body. It was easier, for now.  
“I’m sorry—” he started, but Mythal laughed.   
“I told you he would say that,” she said. Wisdom smiled. “All your plans and intrigues have finally gone better than expected, and still you apologize. Sorry for what, Dread Wolf? Saving our people? Giving my Sentinel a chance to save me? Avenging my death? Tell me, what is it you regret?”  
“That any of it was necessary,” he admitted.  
She pressed his shoulder. “Solas, a wiser woman than I once told you, without sorrow, there is no story. No rivers, no ocean, no Mythal, no Lavellan. And I would not have missed the story for all the world. Neither would you.”  
Cole’s smile dipped. “She’s not here. Or in the corners of Skyhold. Or in Crestwood.”  
“We’ll find her,” said Wisdom.  
“Does she live?” asked Solas. “Did something happen to the anchor? Or perhaps her spirit is unable to let go— maybe she lingers in the Deep Roads. Maybe she’s suffering—”  
“I would know. I would feel her,” said Cole.   
“We should find a memory of Skyhold. One she loved. She’ll return, be drawn to it,” said Wisdom. The Fade shifted again. The veilfire tree unfolded above them.   
“Perhaps,” said Solas doubtfully.  
“At least it will provide a stable base to think upon it,” said Mythal. “We can explore the memories in this place to discover where she might most be gone. If she has not arrived by the time we’ve exhausted them, we will try something else.”  
Cole drifted away, slipping through the hidden tunnels following thoughts no others saw. Mythal ran her fingers over the carved names. “It is one of my favorite places,” she told him. 

“Can you— could I see what has become of the people here? Are they well? Are they in danger?”   
Wisdom smiled and the memory rippled. Vhemanen sat beside Sera at the edge of the room.  
“Do you have it?” she asked.  
Sera nodded. “I think so.”  
“No breeches this time?” asked Vhemanen.  
Sera snorted. “Yeah. And the way she looked when I told her I stole em. I’ve got it.”  
“Then— concentrate. Deep breath.” Vhemanen watched as Sera’s palm opened and the glow of Veilfire grew in her hand.   
Sera looked up at her. “Well?” asked Vhemanen.  
“You think she’d like it? Seems— silly after all this.”  
“Sometimes, silly is sweetest. Even the Dread Wolf stole cookies once in a while. I wish I’d known her. She was a light when all was dark. Her light’s gone, Sera. Maybe she’s lost in the dark now. You can be her light now, bring her back with your joy.”  
Sera scrubbed at her eyes. She slapped her hand against the wall. “Hope you can see this Buckles,” she whispered. “Hope you’re tweaking his ears somewhere.” Vhemanen hugged her.   
“Come on,” she said, “those Orlesian knobs are supposed to come today with that churchy woman. We have an ugly statue to tear down.”  
Sera laughed and the memory faded.  
“Thank you,” said Solas. “I think— I think I’d like to sit a while at the cairn.”  
Wisdom nodded. “We’ll keep looking here.” 

 

He was surprised it wasn’t autumn. A summer evening instead. Thunder clouds piling over the fortress. He watched the sun sink into the approaching storm, a false dusk and a warning breeze cooling the air around him. He remembered this. And didn’t wish to. This was not where he thought he’d find her. It was useless reliving his grief from this day. Wisdom was here, returned to him against all expectation. And here he was, when he had feared oblivion. _Is that where she is? Trapped in some nightmare of her own making? Does she believe she is in some frightening between-place?_ He stood up, uncertain where to go, what to do. She was meant to be here.   
His ear twitched at the sound of footsteps descending the long trail behind him and he turned. A thick fog lay over the knees of the mountain. In its depths, a silver-blue light swung gently. He climbed toward it.   
“He sounds like a great deal of trouble, this one, da’len.” The voice was raspy, but warm. And old voice used to sucking in the smoke of many hearth fires. “Are you certain he is worth it? All the heroes that ever were, all the spirits of love— even gods, anything you can dream of. They are all here. Waiting for you. Why this one? What makes him so special, hmm?” The light passed by the wolf statue Solas had shattered, slipping over its stone face before letting it disappear back into the fog.  
“He gave up a world for me, mamaela. What other—” her voice stuttered out. Solas scrambled up the side of the mountain, aching for that voice. “I _feel_ him. He’s very close. Solas?”   
“Hmph,” came the older voice again. “He’s got a thing for storms and mist. He’s hiding something, da’len. Never trust someone who won’t show their spirit in the full sunlight.” The silver-blue light swung wildly and the fog rapidly dispersed. He could see her. Whole and free of the anchor. No seeping glow. No buzzing ward. No vallaslin.  
“Emma lath,” he called to her and she turned her gaze from Skyhold down the rocky slope to his face. There was the smile he’d so craved. There was the wave of joy she had always saved for him.   
A sudden doubt hit him and he faltered even as she helped the ancient woman beside her climb down the steep path. It was too perfect. Too close to what he’d longed for. “Are you— is it _you_ Vhenan?” he asked as she approached him. He tried to sense some illusion. Some evasion. This was where he was most familiar. Most comfortable. He should be able to tell. The older woman scowled up at him.  
“You’re so suspicious,” she said, holding up the bright lantern to better see his face. He glanced toward her, noticing the film in her eyes. She had to be mostly blind. If that meant anything here. He doubted that it did. “Happiness finds you and you’d push it away with both hands until you’ve thoroughly prodded and poked it to make certain it is what it says,” she fumed.  
“Ir abelas, I _must_ know.” His hand met the Inquisitor’s, pulling and pulling, trying to see beneath. “If it is an illusion then my love may be hurt somewhere, frightened— I cannot leave her so. Not even to be happy in a dream.”  
The old woman grinned and poked a bony finger into Lavellan’s side. “I understand now, da’len.” She handed her lantern to the Inquisitor and shifted the pack upon her back. She strode down the path toward the fortress. “Good luck!” she called back. “If you tire of it, find me in a millennium or so. I’ll have grown young again by then. And I’ll be itching for adventure again.”  
“Dareth Shiral, Lamplighter,” called the Inquisitor.   
“Lamplighter?” asked Solas, turning back to her.  
She shrugged. “Not anymore, I guess. But I don’t know what name she’d rather have.”  
He touched her cheek. “Are you— _real_?” he asked.  
She laughed. “What is it you told me? ‘That is a matter of debate’?” She leaned into his hand. “Except this time, the Dreamer will never be forced to wake. Can’t you see me? I can see you. All of you, all the things you meant to do, all the things you never said and wished you had— I see you, Solas.” She held up the lamp beside her face. “I have no more masks. No title. No anchor. No power. Just me.” She hesitated. “Am I not enough?” she asked.  
He kissed her and it was not like the Fade kisses he remembered. Nor the physical ones. It was more. As if a piece of him lingered within her when they parted. As if he’d exchanged it for a spark of her that slipped into him, colored him from the inside out. “More than enough. Too perfect, this is too much joy for me to believe it’s real.”  
She smiled. “Shall we argue then? To put you at ease?”  
“Perhaps a little,” he laughed. He touched her again, craving another spark, wishing he could mix entirely with her, slip out of himself and into her. She seemed to sense it and kissed him again. “Again,” he whispered. “Again and again and again.”  
“Yes,” she agreed, “Again. Today and tomorrow and every day after. We have time. And promises to fulfill.”  
“What promise?”  
“The only one I have left to keep. To you. And to the lamplighter.” She held up the lantern. “An eternity of service in exchange for you. To go to the edge of it all, to light the veilfires where no others have yet been. To explore the depths of the Fade.” She held out her hand to him. “Will you come with me?”  
“Into the Void itself, if you asked, Vhenan,” he said, and closed his hand around hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to miss writing this terribly. Thank you for sticking with me through all these chapters. I love all the hits, all the notes, all the encouragement.


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